


The School of Merlin

by Aelys_Althea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bullying, Bullying Violence, Enemies to Friends, First Season of Merlin, Gen, Healing, Hidden Powers, Kids, M/M, Magic-Users, Magical Creatures, Potential Series?, Pre-Slash, Rivalry, School, Secrets, Social Outcast, Third Year, This was written with the intention of future Methur, be prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 175,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has a secret. A secret he knows he must guard with his life because most of the world won't understand. They'll think him Bad, Evil, Dark. So he keeps it hidden.<br/>Unfortunately, secrets have a way of getting out.<br/>In a world of magic, a world of learning that magic, of embracing it and exploring the wonders it can perform, Merlin is different. He's always been different, and that difference could be dangerous if he lets it run untethered and raging. What better solution could there be than to learn to tame his wayward power?<br/>No one ever told him that school could be so terrifying, and that was to say nothing of the people there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unfortunate Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> ~Written for the After Camlann Big Bang~
> 
> My first time participating in this fest and it's been so much fun! Working with the lovely matchboximpala and her beautiful art - I'm sorry for my incompetence and thanks so much for sticking with me - we actually managed to patch it together! Thanks to everyone from the ACBB community for running this wonderful fest once again. I definitely anticipate partaking again in future.
> 
> This is a Hogwarts AU written entirely for non-profit purposes. All characters and rights go to the original producers of the BBC and the legend itself, as well as JK Rowling for creating the foundations of the world this story explores. Basically, it's set at Hogwarts but with Merlin characters. It might - might, if I can get off my butt to kick my muse into action once more - be part of a series? Maybe? I'm not sure, but I'd really appreciate any comments, suggestions or otherwise if you have a second.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for taking the time to take a peek and I hope you enjoy!

                                                    

                                                                           

"Merlin, you bastard!"

With a start, Merlin whipped his head sideways to dart a glance over his shoulder. At the sight of Will, round face mottled a furious red and pounding the pavement of the sidewalk as he raced towards him, he gave a strangled yelp, dropped the handle of his trunk and fled.

"Merlin!" Hunith called after him, but Merlin didn't pause, leaving his mother behind alongside his trunk. He knew Will would catch him – Will had always been faster than him – but it was his hope that some of his furious anger would have quelled by the time he bowled him over.

It hadn't. Or at least, the force of Will's grasp as it latched onto the back of Merlin's robes suggested it hadn't. Merlin had barely made it to the end of the block, stumbling in his eternal clumsiness as he rounded the corner, and Will was upon him. He yelped once more, even more strangled than before for the abrupt tightness at his neck.

"Will… you're… suffocating me."

"You damn well deserve it," Will exclaimed, far louder than was entirely necessary given that he practically shouted _right_ into Merlin's ear. Merlin cast his friend a cringing glance, wincing at the venomous expression he wore. "You do. You bloody well deserve it and you know it. How could you not tell me?"

Sighing – still a struggle with Will's grip on his collar – Merlin cast his eyes skyward. "Really? How could I not tell you, when you react like this?"

Will's face grew only redder with Merlin's words. "I'm not angry at you for leaving, I'm angry that you didn't _tell_ me you were leaving."

Merlin glanced at Will sidelong. He raised a hand and feebly attempted to untangle his friend's fingers from his robes. Though Merlin was taller than him, Will more than made up for the discrepancy for sheer determination and stubbornness. He would be unlikely to loosen his fingers without his own express desire to do so. Merlin sighed once more as his attempt failed. "You are too. I knew you'd be angry that I was leaving –"

"I'm not angry because of that."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"Not."

"Are!"

Will growled in his throat once more but didn't attempt to continue their childish exchange. It was a testament to just how right Merlin was that he didn't; Will was as stubborn as a mule and so rarely admitted defeat – or his own wrongdoing – that it was nothing short of miraculous when he actually did. So when he finally thinned his lips, pressing them together and nodded shortly, Merlin actually blinked in surprise. "You're admitting I'm right?"

Grumbling unintelligibly, Will released his hold on the back of Merlin's robes. He glared at the ground by his feet, his hands opening and closing in clenching fists. "Course you're right. I don't want you to go. I'm _mad_."

Despite Will's still very evident anger, Merlin felt himself ease. This anger he could deal with, more so than outright, spitting fury. Petulance and sulking were all very tedious but it was easier in many ways to handle than being assaulted by violent cusses and furious reprimands. With the casualness they'd acquired from half a lifetime of friendship, Merlin turned towards his friend and slung an arm around his shoulders. Will leant into him, face still drawn in a sulk but falling prey to the affection nonetheless.

"Look, Will, I'm sorry," Merlin sighed, squeezing Will's shoulder comfortingly. Will only grunted, barely acknowledging the words or the gesture. "I didn't mean to upset you, it's just… it was all supposed to be sort of undercover. My mum told your mum only yesterday –"

"Yeah, and she only told me this morning, when it was almost too late." Will's glare at his feet had become glassy, his dark eyes filling with tears, and Merlin winced once more. _Please don't cry because then_ I'll _start crying and then I'll never be able to leave._

Dropping his chin onto Will's shoulder, Merlin set to patting his shoulder fondly, comfortingly. "You know, it's not like I'm disappearing off the face of the earth. It's just to Scotland –"

"Which may as well be a whole world away," Will muttered. He sniffed – _please don't cry_ – and swiped at his nose with a fist. "Why the hell do you even have to go to a school anyway? What's wrong with home schooling? _Everyone_ home schools."

Merlin hummed in dissent. "Correction, everyone in _Ealdor_ home-schools. I'm pretty sure that most of the world doesn't do that."

"Well, good thing you're from Ealdor then," Will persisted. "You don't have to go."

Merlin could have predicted Will's lip pouting in continued petulance without glancing at him. He sighed once more. Why did Merlin always have to be the more mature, the more adult of the pair of them? Why did he have to be the one to preach the positives of his sea change? It wasn't like Merlin truly wanted to go to school; he'd much rather stay with his friend, remain in their quiet little town, then travel across a sea and a country to go to boarding school. Even if he had always felt a little different, a bit of an outcast, he didn't want to leave his mum, or his only true friend. It really wasn't fair.

But then Merlin couldn't afford not to go. Not after everything that had happened. Not with suspicions rising and the inevitable result being that _some_ one would find out.

Drawing away from Will, maintaining contact only through his one-armed hug, Merlin met his friend's eyes. "Look, Will. You can write. You can even visit if you really want to. And I'll be back for the entire Christmas holidays, and all of the Easter holidays, and then all of summers break too. It's not like I'm going to disappear."

"Feels like it," Will muttered, and he sniffed once more. "I just don't understand why you up and decided that _school_ was so much better than just learning from home."

Merlin shrugged. "Mum and I talked about it. She seemed to think that I'd about reached the limits of what I could learn from her. You know how she is with magic nowadays."

"Then you could tutor with me. Mum and Dad wouldn't mind, honest. I'll ask them for you if you'd like."

Merlin shook his head even before Will had finished speaking. Over Will's shoulder he could see his mother heading towards them, walking slowly in an effort to extend their privacy. She navigated around Mr Perkins as he backed from his modest little shopfront out onto the street with an armful of scrolls stacked high before him. Merlin's trunk trundled behind her, Zee's cage balanced precariously on top with the dozing rat curled comfortably within. Hunith didn't even bothering to use the wand that stuck visibly from the pocket of her robes but manually dragged the cumbersome luggage instead.

Merlin turned his attention back to Will who had finally raised his gaze from the cement of the footpath. His eyes were faintly red but had lost their glassiness. Merlin offered him a smile. "Thanks, Will. But I don't think that'd work. There's just so much else that I can learn at a school that I wouldn't be able to from home. Stuff that _I_ need to learn. And stuff that I might be able to… teach myself." He raised his eyes meaningfully at his friend.

Will, to his credit, seemed to understand the unspoken words almost immediately. "You mean… oh. Oh, because of…" He clamped his lips shut, and for the first time since he'd practically ploughed into Merlin, anger faded entirely from his face. Only to be replaced by concern and a distinct flash of guilt instead. "Is it – are you leaving because of me? Because of what happened with me?"

Merlin shook his head firmly. "No, of course not." _Not entirely, anyway. It's not. It's not because of Will._

"Because if it is, I… Merlin, I'd tell everyone, I'd tell them that it wasn't bad and that it's evil. If it's my fault –"

"It's not, Will. Seriously, calm down. Besides, what happened with you was ages ago." No, it wasn't because of Will. Not the fault of the incident that had taken place years before. Partially, perhaps, if anyone joined the dots and began to question the similarity of the supposed miracles. But the suspicions hadn't truly been rising until two months ago, when Merlin had done something utterly foolish. When Hunith had heard word of those suspicions in passing and panicked. "It's just… no, it's not just that. It's really not. Mum's worried that someone might have found out. And that if I leave my Gift and my magic – you know even my magic's kind of weird – if I leave it unchecked and un-warded with it still still growing, then it's likely I'll attract the attention of Muggles. And besides, you know what Mum's like." He forced a fondly exasperated expression on his face.

Will stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. Everyone knew of Hunith's reluctance to use magic. Ever since her disaster of a charms experiment when Merlin was nine, she'd used magic minimally at most. It had been difficult for Merlin, attempting to learn his own skills, develop his own magic, predominantly from textbooks.

Will sniffed once more. He opened his mouth, and Merlin could almost see the objection on his tongue before he spoke. "It's not that weird, you know. I'm sure plenty of people can do what you can do. Just 'cause no one in our town does doesn't mean it doesn't happen." He shrugged. "I mean, accidental magic is all wandless, right? Surely it can't be that uncommon."

"Not uncommon for a teenager to still be doing it?" Merlin asked, raising his eyebrows pointedly. "Or to actually do it intentionally?" He shook his head. "No, it's weird, Will, and you know it. But Mum said the professors at Hogwarts might be able to help me with it."

"What could they possibly help you with? It's just like other magic, right?"

Merlin bit back the urge to sigh once more. He was doing that far too much of late; he attributed it to his reluctance to leave home. "Not exactly, no. You know people are a little freaked out by it when they see it –"

"Freaked out? More like in awe."

"- and that wouldn't be the worst of it. It's because of my… my Gift more than anything else that Mum thinks I need to go to school. Imagine what people would say if they found out about _that_ problem."

Will pouted once more. "It's hardly a problem."

"You think that," Merlin corrected. "And only because it helped you once."

"I'd still think that anyway."

"No you wouldn't."

"Yes I would," Will persisted stubbornly. "It's not Dark, Merlin. It's not _evil_."

Merlin glanced over Will's shoulder towards his approaching mother, towards the disappearing figure of Mr Perkins as he tottered around the corner. "Most people would think so," he murmured.

Will frowned, opening his mouth to reply indignantly, but was cut off by Hunith's arrival. Her thin face, worn and weary and just a little strained with mounting worry, attempted a smile as she halted and glanced towards Will. "Good morning, William. Satisfied now that you've effectively waylaid my son and vented your frustrations?"

Will dropped his chin sheepishly, cheeks reddening slightly once more. "Yes, Mrs Em. I'm feeling much better now."

Hunith's smile widened, easing some of the lines of her persistent worry. "I'm glad to hear it. Unfortunately, however, Merlin has to be away. 'The Portkey waits for no man', as the saying goes." And nodding to herself, she made her way towards their destination once more, leading Merlin and a tag-along Will towards the outskirts of town.

Merlin kept his head bowed, arm still slung over Will's shoulder as he followed in his mother's footsteps. He didn't speak to his friend, and Will seemed to recognise his inclination towards brooding silence. His eyes were trained on the pale grey footpath beneath his feet, fighting the urge to peer at the squat little houses around him, the immaculate front gardens and picket fences, the shop fronts with open windows gleaming with charmed cleanliness and displaying a hodgepodge of wares for the passers-by to peer at and become instantly distracted by. He'd seen it all before, every day of his life, and longing as he was to drink in every last glimpse of the town he'd grown up in it was hardly necessary. He'd been cataloguing every aspect of his surroundings, down to the exact colour of the violets in Mrs Magee's front garden to the exact pitch of the bell that chimed upon entry into _Snack 'n Go_ since his mother had finalised the papers necessary for his transfer into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had a plethora of memories, of useless reminders and bright scenes that would last him until the Christmas break. Or at least he hoped they would.

Still, even knowing as much, even with the understanding that his memory was more than adept at retaining such information, the urge persisted. And before Hunith had led him down the back of Yellow Bridge Crescent and to the outskirts of the woods beyond, he was scanning around him once more. His throat had tightened almost painfully and the light-hearted casualness elicited by the banter he'd shared with Will but moments before had died into non-existence.

Hunith turned as she pulled to a stop at the end of the laneway passing towards the pathless woods. She propped Merlin's trunk beside her, hands folding to clasp before her and waited. Her face was a picture of tension, of worry and regret and sadness, as it had been for days now. But there was also resignation and acceptance there; she knew Merlin had to leave as much as he did.

Merlin turned towards Will as they too slowed to a stop. His friend seemed to be making a concerted effort to withhold his emotions, but Will had never been particularly good at restraining his anger, his joy, his sadness, and it was evidenced in the returned glassiness of his eyes. He attempted to speak, mouth working, but seemed incapable of producing words.

Merlin didn't mind. He engulfed Will in an embrace, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding him tightly. Will's arms squeezed him back just as tightly and he pressed his face into Merlin's shoulder. They exchanged no words; no more were necessary, and Merlin wasn't sure he could bring himself to speak any more than Will could.

Finally, they drew away from one another. Merlin wasn't sure who broke the embrace first, but neither could look directly at one another when they did. Part embarrassment and part grief stilted what was usually so comfortably casual. Will patted Merlin on his shoulder in a way that Merlin recognised as being reminiscent of his father's gesture of awkward affection. Then he stepped backwards, taking a deep breath in an evident an attempt to steady himself and propped what was very obviously a forced smile onto his face.

It wasn't exactly an eloquent exchange on either of their parts, but was the best that Merlin could hope for. It was all that he really needed.

He turned to his mother, and any attempt at a smile fell from his face. It wasn't needed, not with his mother. Hunith wasn't smiling, but though sorrow was still writ upon her face it had softened. She knew, even more than Will did, how hard this was. She knew that Merlin didn't want to leave her, was scared despite holding his tongue and refraining from admitting as much. Merlin stepped across the distance between them and immediately found himself engulfed in his mother's arms. She wasn't much taller than him these days but somehow still seemed able to wrap him entirely within her embrace.

They held one another silently for a moment. When Hunith finally spoke it was nearly inaudibly as she whispered into his ear. "Stay safe, my son. Learn much and… and try to enjoy yourself."

Merlin gave a choked laugh that, muffled as it was, sounded even closer to tears than Will had a short time before. He nodded into his mother's shoulder. "I will, Mum."

"Write to me often. I want to know everything that's going on, alright? Even the little things."

"I will."

"And don't do anything foolish." Her voice became quieter still. "Don't use your Gift, Merlin. Please, don't use it. Wandless magic is one thing, something that people will even respect you for when they find out, but your Gift _must_ remain hidden."

Merlin bit his lip, pressing his forehead into his mother's shoulder. It was an old discussion topi they'd long since agreed would have no favourable conclusion. "What if it helps someone to –?"

"Not even then," Hunith murmured, a sharp edge to her voice. Merlin knew from long experience that such sharpness was less anger and more fierce protectiveness. "Merlin, not even then."

"But Mum –"

"No, Merlin." She squeezed him more tightly, so tightly it was almost painful. "Your safety is that which is of most concern to me. I don't care about anyone else. No one would understand if they found out, regardless of how you chose to use your Gift."

Merlin pressed his lips together withholding his urge to argue further. Surely if someone needed his help… if someone _desperately_ needed the aid of what Merlin's Gift could provide…

 _But Mum would never understand that. And just like she says, it's dangerous. I don't even full know what I can do._ Merlin knew from repeated exclamations to the subject that even as a Healer Hunith would never put anyone else's safety, anyone else's welfare, above Merlin's. It was both a blessing and a curse for Merlin, and he could feel nothing but sore, exasperated gratitude for the fact. Hunith, alongside Will, were two of only a handful of people in the world who truly knew the nature of his Gift. Similarly, they were the only people who knew that he would never – _never_ – use it for anything but Good.

Unfortunately, Merlin doubted that the rest of the world would see it quite like that. The very nature of his Gift provoked a less than favourable response.

Finally he nodded into his mother's shoulder and felt Hunith relax noticeably. Enough to tighten her squeezing embrace briefly once more. Then, drawing away, she brushed a kiss on the side of his head, a lingering press of lips that carried as much weight as her hold. She took a step backwards a moment later, dipped a hand into the pocket of her robes and offered him the tarnished silver bracelet she extracted. Merlin took it gingerly, almost reluctantly, wrapping his fingers around it tightly before stepping towards his trunk. He locked his free hand awkwardly around the joined handles of Zee's cage and his trunk and turned towards his mother once more.

She'd cast a _Tempus_ Charm and was staring at it with more intensity that was entirely warranted. Biting her lip, she nodded curtly and turned back towards Merlin. Heaving a heavy breath, she furrowed her brow. "Are you sure I can't come with you? I would like to be there on your first day."

Merlin shook his head. "No, it's okay, Mum. I'll be fine, really. Gaius said he'd come and meet me straight away. And besides," he forced a cheeky grin onto his face that immediately served to ease Hunith's frown slightly, "I don't think any of the other kids have their parents dropping them off to school."

Hunith gave a quiet chuckle, shaking her head at his words. "Yes, but most students starting at school for the first time do so alongside dozens of other new arrivals. You're a special case, so if you –"

"Mum," Merlin sighed, casting his gaze skyward once more. "It would be _embarrassing_ if you came along."

It wouldn't have been. Merlin didn't really care what anyone else thought of him. He had his mother, and he had Will, and that was all he truly cared about. Everyone else could go and hex themselves if they had a problem with him. But he didn't have to tell Hunith that. She likely already knew that too, even as she knew as well as Merlin did that it was all an excuse. That the real reason he didn't want his mother coming with him was because Portkey travel terrified her like little else. Just the fact that she was prepared to thrust aside that terror to accompany Merlin was more than reason enough for him to vehemently ensure that she didn't have to.

Will, whether he realised the reason behind their exchange or not, stepped forwards at that moment to Hunith's side with his own offer. "I could go with you. I've never travelled by Portkey before. It could be kind of fun to try."

"Not a all that fun, I can tell you," Merlin replied. He'd only travelled in such a mode of transport once before and wasn't keen to repeat it. Only necessity demanded as much, necessity driven by the fact that it was just as easy for him to Portkey from his home in Ireland to Hogwarts as it was to travel first to Kings Cross Station and thence catch the Hogwarts Express to the school. "Thanks anyway, Will."

"You depriving me of the chance to try something new?" Will pouted, but there was a smile on his lips.

"Saving you from the chance more like," Merlin replied.

"You always were like that, Selkie," Will said fondly, grinning as Merlin rolled his eyes at the childhood nickname. "Always too careful for your own good."

"And that is exactly as he should be," Hunith muttered, loud enough for Will to hear and to cringe sheepishly. Hunith only gave him a faintly reproving glance before turning towards Merlin. "Thirty seconds, Merlin. Are you sure you're alright?"

Merlin nodded, the flutter of butterflies in his stomach springing into life once more. He'd managed to quell them for most of the day but seemed incapable of doing so any longer. He tightened his grip of the Portkey and his luggage both. "I'm sure, Mum."

"Alright, then," Hunith nodded. "Take care. And really, don't forget to write me every chance you get. I'll be expecting one tonight at the very latest."

"Yeah, me too," Will added. "You gotta tell me which house you get sorted into."

"William, that's hardly of import." Hunith scowled at Will, triggering another sheepish cringe, and a "Sorry, Mrs Em". She shook her head, smiling faintly before turning back to Merlin. "It matters not which house you're sorted into Merlin. It doesn't matter -"

"I know, Mum. I'm not worried."

Hunith paused, opened her mouth then closed it again after a moment. When she spoke once more, her voice was rich with sadness and concern but also the distinctly golden colour of pride. "Good luck, my son. I'll miss you every hour."

"Miss you every minute," Merlin quoted.

"Miss you every second," Hunith completed with a small smile. "Don't forget that I love –"

Merlin didn't hear the rest of her words. Not that he needed to; she'd said as much to him enough times when he went only as far to sleep over at Will's house that it hardly needed saying at all. Abruptly, an unpleasant snagging hooked in his belly, right behind his navel, and sound morphed and skewed. Words disappeared as he grew suddenly weightless and was tugged into the swirling vortex of oblivion. The faces of Hunith and Will were the last that he saw before even his vision blacked out.

* * *

Hogsmeade was a perfectly quiet, picturesque little village. When Merlin appeared on its outskirts, nearly slipping on the slight incline he found himself upon, he was afforded a full view of the clutter of buildings that sat sidelong to the distant castle of Hogwarts. It was small, with barely more than a handful of houses ringing the central stretch of road that boasted what appeared to be a series of shops. They were reminiscent of those in Ealdor, from their half-wall windows and swinging signs hanging above the doors. If he squinted, Merlin could make out the calligraphic names painted at the top of those windows: Zonko's Joke Shop, Madam Puddifoots and Dervish and Banges, all of which he could only guess at what was sold. The streets and front lawns were dotted with people who moved at the same slow pace that Merlin was familiar with from his own town.

Merlin couldn't see Gaius, not when he scanned over the few bobbing heads that he could make out even at a distance. Whether his mother's friend was lost in one of the shops or had not yet arrived he wasn't sure. He could make out the building that appeared to be the _Three Broomsticks_ , however, the site of their meeting point, so hefting his trunk in his hand and sparing Zee a glance that the rat replied to with a squeak, he set off down the hill.

It was just as quiet within the town as it had appeared from the hillside, Merlin noted with satisfaction. It wasn't that he was terribly averse to loud noises – far from it, he oftentimes appreciated the excitement that raucous behaviour entailed – but the butterflies in his belly were still flapping and he feared that too much excitement piled atop his nerves would be too much. At least for today.

He trundled his trunk down the cobbled central path, pausing to peer into the window of a shop called Honeydukes that evidently sold sweets, and to nod a greeting to an elderly witch draped in unseasonably heavy robes. He was barely a shop away from the distinctive steeple awning and wide door of the _Three Broomsticks_ when that supposed peace was abruptly disrupted.

Tumbling like yapping puppies from the door of Zonko's Joke Shop, a party of young men – boys, really, for they couldn't be all that much older than Merlin himself – stopped him short. Laughter barked loudly from at least two of them and they moved with such jostling swagger that Merlin almost couldn't count how many there were. He drew to the side of the path as they passed without a glance in his direction, eyeing them with wary curiosity and contemplating that they may even be his future schoolmates. It was likely because of his close study that he noticed the boy in the very centre of their midst, a boy who very obviously did not want to be there. If anything he looked glaringly and twitchingly uncomfortable, if more than a little resigned to that discomfort.

Frowning, Merlin watched to see the casual lean of one tall boy upon the awkward boy's shoulder, saw another elbow him in the ribs in a way that could have been a friendly nudge had it not nearly bowled the boy over. And he saw the moment the said boy flinched, attempted to withdraw from the midst of the rest of the group, and nearly fell over himself when one grabbed at his shoulder with a smile and tugged him back along with them, preventing his leave. Another jostle of an elbow, coupled by more barks of laughter, was met by a muted cry of frustration or complaint, the words of which Merlin couldn't make out.

Merlin knew he shouldn't do anything. He knew that when his mother had told him to keep his Gift hidden she had also meant to remain hidden himself. Unobtrusive. Unnoticeable. Standing out was a sure way to draw unwanted attention, and attention would undoubtedly lead to people _finding out_.

But Merlin had grown to sorely disapprove of bullying. It was how he and Will had become friends in the first place, his best friend drawn from the cruelty and taunts of the other town's children to become something of a fifth limb to Merlin.

When Merlin saw the boy in the midst of the grinning older boys, he felt compelled to say something. The need was so pervasive that he almost considered someone was indeed compelling him to act, or would have had the feeling not been so reminiscent of how he had felt with Will all those years ago. Lowering his trunk to the ground, he hastened after their retreating figures.

_This is stupid. It's stupid, it's not my place to say anything. I shouldn't say anything, but…_

"Excuse me! Excuse me, please!"

It took several attempts, a full two streets and a corner of tentative calling to before the group of boys finally seemed to realise he addressed them. As one, the uncomfortable boy included, they turned towards him. Expressions of curiosity shifted into mixtures of disgruntlement and amusement, ridicule and mockery.

Merlin, slowing to a stop several feet away, straightening his spine to stand before them. He kept his voice free of warble or submission, forcing a friendly smile onto his face. "Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering…" He looked directly at the boy embedded in the centre of their clutch. "Um, are you alright?"

The boy stared at him for a moment with widening eyes. He blinked several times, mouth opening and closing, before glancing at the boys that surrounded him. The boys that had shifted their stares from Merlin back to him instead.

It was not the boy who replied to Merlin's words. Instead, from the midst of the group one single boy stepped forward with a swagger that immediately made Merlin want to roll his eyes. He refrained from doing so with difficulty.

The boy was tall, though Merlin noticed with satisfaction not quite as tall as he, and carried the physique of one comfortable even in the growing lankiness of his body. His arms and legs were visibly muscled through his casual robes and Merlin immediately tagged him as being a sportsperson. The arrogance on his straight-featured face, in the toss of his head to flick his blond fringe from his eyes, bespoke as much if nothing else.

 _Probably a quidditch player or something_ , Merlin thought with faint derision. He wasn't inclined to participate in quidditch himself and largely considered those who did rather pig-headed. Will included.

The boy narrowed startlingly blue eyes at Merlin as he planted his feet in an unnecessarily wide stance. It would have been more impressive had he been slightly older than the thirteen or fourteen years that he appeared. The boy seemed to be the youngest of the group of them, which was surprising as when he spoke it was with the confidence of a spokesperson.

"Who are you?"

The question was blunt, demanding, and left absolutely no leeway for avoidance of answering. Even so, Merlin deliberately delayed his reply, running his eyes over each and every one of the boys that stood behind the blond one and cataloguing them. When he turned back to the first boy, it was to bite back a smirk at the indignant twitch that had begun in his eye.

"My name is Merlin. I've just –"

"Merlin?" The blond boy snorted explosively and descended into seemingly uncontrollable snickers. The boys behind him cackled like a pack of dutiful hyenas behind him. The blond boy's smirk stretched wider until it was more of an uncontrollable grin. "Seriously? Your name is Merlin?"

Sighing, Merlin held his tongue as another round of laughter begun. Typical, really. It was nothing he hadn't expected, hadn't experienced before, even if the arousal of such a situation was a little earlier in the day than he'd anticipated. He very rarely resented his mother but had done so on numerous occasions for his namesake. Hunith always blamed – with fondness – the insistence of Balinor, that even when he was just a newborn his late father had known, had felt, the strength of his magic. That he had said if anyone could do the great wizard of the past justice in a name it would be Merlin himself. Why anyone needed to in the first place was a mystery to Merlin.

The blond boy was speaking again. Somehow he managed to swagger even when standing still. "Well, _Mer_ lin, what do you want?"

Taking a deep breath, Merlin straightened his back from where he realised he'd somehow fallen to a slight cringe. He gestured towards the uncomfortable boy who shifted and fidgeted from foot to foot before him. "I was just wondering if he was okay?"

The blond raised his eyebrows, blinked in confusion for a moment and slowly turned towards the frightened boy who suddenly adopted a nervously guarded expression. Merlin was beginning to regret having acted at all, and not only for the other boy's sake. "Morris?"

The frightened boy – Morris – twitched slightly as the boys on either side of him turned their attention towards him. Morris seemed to be nearly writhing in his robes, though somehow, despite his discomfort and awkwardness, he managed to slip in a fierce glare at Merlin. Merlin blinked. He hadn't really been expecting such vehement aggression from the seemingly subdued boy. "Yes, I'm fine. Nothing's wrong, I don't –"

"It would seem, _Mor_ ris," the blond overrode him, the same emphasis on the first syllable of his name as he'd done for Merlin's. "That you appear to be uncomfortable in our company."

"I'm not –"

"It seems that some people might think you _un_ comfortabl _e_. Does the fact that we want to talk to you about certain… _things_ discomfort you?"

Merlin felt his hackles rise. He glared at the back of the blond boy's head, him more than the rest of his loyal dogs that nodded and turned expectantly to Morris with expressions of suspiciously attentive patience. What the hell was wrong with them? He was being _such_ an _ass_!

Morris twitched once more, seemed on the verge of blurting something out, before he shook his head so sharply that Merlin almost feared for the safety of his neck. Less so when he flashed another furious glare at Merlin as though blaming him for his intrusion. "No, I don't. I mean, I do. I mean, there is of course much we need to talk about –"

"Is that right?" The blond interrupted him again. He nodded, still turned away from Merlin, and slouched further into his swaggering stance. "You agree that a conversation between us needs to take place?"

Morris twitched once more, but at least the furious glare he held was directed towards the ground this time rather than at Merlin. "Yes," he muttered. "Of course you'd think that. I knew it was going to happen. It's been a long time coming –"

"A long time coming, certainly," the blond overrode him for the third time. "And there's nothing wrong with hanging out with us, is there? We're not going to do anything but have a little chat. Even book-ravens like you understand, right, Morris?"

"Yes," Morris muttered, giving a sharp nod of his head instead this time. "I do. Unfortunately."

The blond finally turned back to Merlin. Merlin met his gaze with a flat stare of his own, pressing his lips together in an attempt to stem the flowing urge to insult the boy who was being so cruel, so _deliberately_ cruel to some helpless kid, even if that kid was being a bit of an objectionable and ungrateful ass too. "You see that, Merlin? He wants to be with us. Or at least, he knows that we want to talk to him for just a little while. So stick your nose out of other people's business, why don't you?"

The rest of the boys jeered their agreement, nodding and grinning stupidly in a way that made Merlin want to raise his hand a hex their expressions with a Stasis Charm. Let them see how much they enjoy smirking when such twisted lips were a permanent fixture to their faces. Instead, he took another deep breath and affixed his attention onto the blond boy. "It doesn't seem that way, even if he says so."

"Really? He doesn't look like he wants to be here?"

"Not in the slightest. And I don't think you should make him spend time with you when he obviously doesn't want to."

The blond's smirk became more of a sneer, his lip curling slightly. "And what would you know about it? He doesn't look like he's enjoying himself? Well, maybe he just has to _put up_ with it for a little while."

Merlin frowned, disliking the boy before him more and more with each passing second. "I really doubt that he deserves you treating him like this."

The blond's gaze was hooded, his pale eyes sparkling with his own unconcealed dislike. "Why would you doubt _my_ word?"

"Because out of the two of you, you seem more like an ass."

The words were out of Merlin's mouth before he could stop them. He immediately snapped his jaw closed, pressing his lips together, but the damage was already done.

The blond didn't react at first. His face was blank, even as those of his cronies dropped their smirks into expressions of shock and incredulity. Then the sneer was back, and it was twisted in less disgustful dislike and more lathered in a thick layer of fury. " _What_ did you just call me?"

Merlin should have kept his mouth closed. He could recognise by age thirteen when he'd stepped too far. But his tongue, for all of his mind's supposed intelligence, once more appeared to be on an entirely different wavelength to that of his brain. "I called you an ass which, if the last five minutes I've seen of you is anything to go by, is completely accurate."

It should have been impossible, but somehow the blond's face doubled in fury. His cheeks flushed with bright spots of redness and his eyes narrowed in an unshakeable glare that actually made Merlin take an unconscious step backwards. When he spoke it was in a growl that should have been too deep for him to produce at his age. "You'll pay for that, you little bastard."

Merlin only had a second to think – _huh, second time I'm been called a bastard this morning_ – before his body responded for him. Without a second glance, not even pausing to see if Morris was all right, he spun on his heel and fled. In seconds, a startled shout was bellowed after him, a shout that descended into angry curses. The pounding of running footsteps fell into rapid step behind him.

Merlin was not a good runner. He held hopes that the blond and his cronies wouldn't be either, but they were not high hopes; Will was faster than him and he wasn't exceptionally athletic himself. But he ran anyway, fleeing to the sounds of "Go, Arthur!" and "Come on, Jules" and "Just leave Morris, you idiot, come on!" He spared only half a thought of thanks that Morris was relieved of their presence, could possibly escape their accompaniment, before he focused fully upon flight.

He wouldn't get far, Merlin knew. He didn't have a plan in place of how to escape his unexpected pursuers, especially as, turning the corner, he caught a glimpse of his trunk and Zee's cage still propped in the middle of the footpath. How could he possibly escape dragging them behind him?

Someone was evidently looking out for him, however, for barely a dozen steps away from his luggage the door to the sidelong _Three Broomsticks_ opened and a familiar figure stepped out.

"Gaius!"

Merlin skidded to a stop before the man who was his uncle in all but blood. It took every ounce of his self-control not to glance over his shoulder, to flinch or drop to the ground in an attempt to avoid the onrush of the boys that chased him. He could only hope that the sight of Gaius, member of Hogwarts staff body and all, would be enough to stall them.

Apparently it did. Or it could have been the intent stare that Gaius cast over his shoulder, white eyebrow rising in a truly terrifying display of threat. He stared for a moment longer, and though Merlin still resisted glancing behind him, he was left with the impression that Gaius was very deliberately shooing his pursuers away.

Finally, Gaius turned his attention back to Merlin. His dark gaze was intent but there was a slight quiver to the corners of his downturned lips, a quirk to his raised eyebrow that suggested he was suppressing a bout of amusement. He folded his hands into the sleeves of his brown robes, the same brown robes that Merlin could swear he'd worn every day since he was a child. Each of the times he'd seen his uncle he'd worn nothing but. "Enjoying ourselves are we, Merlin?"

The relief at his escape, the giddiness that arose with his sort-of triumph, spread a grin across Merlin's lips. If it was slightly sheepish, he felt he could hardly blame himself, what with the faintly reprimanding cast to Gaius' face. "Very much." And without another pause, he stepped forwards and slipped his arms around his uncle's torso.

The smile finally broke through Gaius' carefully composed façade as he wrapped Merlin in a returning hug that was surprisingly strong for his stick insect frame. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Well, you've certainly made an impression with some of your schoolmates, that's for sure."

Merlin winced but once more withheld the desire to glance over his shoulder. He untangled himself from Gaius' hold and stepped over to his trunk to grab the handle and lift it up once more. "So they are, huh? My classmates?"

"All attend Hogwarts, yes, but only Arthur Pendragon and Michael Morris are in your year."

Merlin frowned. He knew who Morris was of course, but Arthur… The name Pendragon was... "Which one was Arthur?"

"The blond boy leading the charge in your wake with such ardent determination." Gaius shook his head. "It appears he did not take to you terribly well."

Merlin winced once more. "That bad, huh?" Of course it would be the boy he'd called a ass to his face who was in his year. Of _course_ it would be.

"I will hazard that, had he been able to cast magic outside of Hogwarts' wards then you would be riddled with boils at this point," Gaius replied mildly. Clinically, as was his way. "You could have chosen a less, ah… objectionable opponent for your sharp tongue, Merlin."

"How do you know it was something _I_ said," Merlin muttered. Then he frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Gaius' smile was not allowing itself to be suppressed quite so successfully this time. "Only that Arthur is the first and only son of Uther Pendragon." He paused for a moment, then, evidently deducing that Merlin was a little slow on joining the dots, said, "Your Headmaster."

Merlin groaned, dropping his head onto the top of Zee's cage so that he was folded nearly double in his slump. Of _course_ that would be the case. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"No, I'm quite certain," Gaius replied merrily. He seemed to be nothing if not revelling in Merlin's misery. Patting him on the shoulder with what felt more like a hearty boost of amusement than consolation, he turned and gestured down the street in what Merlin perceived as being the general direction of the school. "You'd probably to well to repair the damage done, but not now. Perhaps not today. Quite aside from that, Merlin, have you taken your lunch yet?"

Straightening from his slump, Merlin sighed heavily. Yes, he was doing that far too much of late. But he thrust aside the woebegone reality that had just presented itself to him; how he could have made what was apparently an enemy out of the Headmaster's son so quickly was a mystery to him, but it appeared to be so. And he knew that Gaius was right – there really was very little Merlin could do about it at present, unless he chose to turn around and attempt to immediately rectify the situation.

He didn't. Not when Arthur apparently had a hoard of eager and loyal wolves at his beck and call. Besides, his stomach agreed that an offer of lunch was far too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

"Lunch sounds great," he said, and, allowing Gaius to charm his luggage with a Follow-Me Charm, they set off down the road in the direction of his new school.

* * *

Arthur watched as the dark-haired boy with the Irish accent made his way in the opposite direction that he and his friends stood, peering around the corner of Madam Puddifoot's. The other boys muttered and grumbled amongst themselves, growing increasingly indignant in their exclamations over the boy that they had so nearly caught.

Until Master Livingstone had appeared, had recognised the boy, and had raised his famous eyebrow in a very deliberate and very familiar non-verbal demand to "Cease, desist, and _go away_ ". Everyone at Hogwarts knew about Livingstone's eyebrow. Even Arthur knew to back down from pursuing his target in the face of such deterrence, especially when, not a minute later, he had embraced the boy with such obvious affection.

Arthur listened with only half an ear to his friends. His holiday friends, they were, and all of them older than he by at least a year. Most either lived in Hogsmeade or were the unfortunate get – children, relatives or distant relations – of the professors at Hogwarts and thence required to stay on the grounds for a good portion of the summers break. Arthur didn't particularly like most of them, and they held not a candle to the affection he felt for his dorm mates, but it was better than nothing. Besides, they were helping him to teach Michael Bloody Morris a lesson.

Morris had been a thorn in Arthur's side since school had begun. At their first confrontation, when Arthur had attempted to extend a hand of friendship to him, he had expressed his desire to pursue anything but. It was only later, after many largely one-sided quarrels that became increasingly mutual, that Arthur had realised exactly why Morris disliked him.

His father had a beef with Uther. Something about purebloods and ancient grudges. And hence Morris had a beef with Arthur. That was it.

Arthur had never particularly approved of pureblood conflicts. Oh, he'd been more than ready to engage in the intricate dances, to learn the courtesies and practice the etiquette, but their usefulness would always baffle him. Had always baffled him, and even more so since he'd first begun attending school and come to realise that the rest of the world didn't act the way he did, that they didn't speak to their elders with iron-hard formalities or adopt speech so complex it was almost another language depending upon the status of those they spoke to.

At first, Arthur had been appalled. How could anyone not act in such a way? Surely it was just manners, wasn't it? But soon, that disbelief had faded into contemplation and shifted to a study of his own actions. Triggered mostly by Leon, he would admit, with his blunt yet kindly translations of the oddities of Arthur's behaviour when compared to his fellow dorm mates. Leon, as a halfblood and one of Arthur's oldest friends, was something of his translator and informed Arthur that apparently the way he was the world was 'weird'.

There were few enough real purebloods in Hogwarts these days. Enough that Arthur had made it his mission to befriend each of them if he could. Most had been largely indifferent, or recognised his attempts for what they were and had responded graciously and accordingly.

Except for Morris. Morris seemed to have made it his mission to outshine Arthur in every way possible, to poke and prod at him, to make him look the fool before their professors. It had taken Arthur two years before he'd blown his fuse and requested the combined efforts of his holiday friends to confront the niggling annoyance that was Michael Morris and shove him into place. It was simple convenience that Morris – respectable pureblood that he was – always came to school a day before his inferiors so as not to sully his shoes with the scum from the Hogwarts Express.

"We should go after him."

The words from one of the boys behind Arthur – it sounded like Jules – drew his attention from where he watched the disappearing figures of Livingstone and what appeared to be his nephew or something. He raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend. "Who, Merlin?"

"Don't be an idiot, Jules," Humphrey said, punctuating his words with a cuff to the back of Jules' head that nearly knocked him to the ground. Humphrey never seemed to appreciate his own strength. "Didn't you see Livingstone? He'll chew you a new one if we chase that kid down now."

Jules rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't mean the Merlin kid. I'm not that stupid. I was talking about Morris." He turned his attention to Arthur. "You wanted us to put him fully through his paces, yeah? No more messing around with you?"

Arthur offered him a wan smile. "If you would. Just so long as you don't, you know, hurt him or anything."

"No problems, Arthur," Dannie said, patting Arthur on his shoulder hard enough to elicit a grunt. Dannie was only slightly smaller than Humphrey, and could give him a good run for his money in an arm-wrestle. "We'll show him what happens when he acts like a right ass to our friends."

Arthur flinched slightly at the use of the term that the boy, Merlin, had flung at him twice not minutes before. He bit back the urge to grumble an objection to Dannie, as much for the disregard of his request to 'not hurt' Morris as for the word itself. "Thanks. Just make sure you don't terrify the shit out of him or anything. I don't want his father to come whinging to mine."

Dannie chuckled. "Yeah, will do, Arthur. Will do." Then he gestured to the other half dozen or so boys around him with a sweep of his arm. "Come along then, lads. We've got our commission to be seeing to."

The rest of the boys exclaimed in a collection of shouts of varying enthusiasm, all turning from watching along the now-empty main street of Hogsmeade back in the direction for which they'd abandoned Morris. Arthur shook his head, pausing in the act of following them. He'd been as enthusiastic as the rest of them but half an hour beforehand, but since moments ago had become well and truly distracted. He had been, he admitted, since the moment he'd turned to face the owner of the clear, concerned voice, since he'd clapped eyes upon the open face, the sharp, angular chin and even sharper cheekbones, of Merlin. Since he'd found himself the focus of curiously wide blue eyes blinking at him with a guilelessness that had made him consider for a moment that the other boy may be a simpleton.

He hadn't been. There was intelligence behind his words, that much Arthur could recognise. Even if they had exchanged barely a few heated words. Unfortunately for Arthur – or perhaps more correctly, unfortunately for Merlin – that intelligence was momentarily absented when he so disastrously put his own foot in his mouth.

 _The stupid little idiot_ , Arthur thought, a scowl creeping once more onto his face as he fell into a slow jog after his friends. _You'll wish you never tried to defend that twit Morris. I'll teach you to read the situation a little better and know when to pull your nose_ out _of it._

Yet for all of his anger, all of his resentment towards the unfamiliar face of the horrendously named Merlin, he couldn't shake the other boy from his mind. There was just something about this 'Merlin'. Something that managed to divert his attention from where he should have been focusing it, which was upon the sudden appearance of the skulking Morris hastening around the distant corner. Perhaps it was simply that, unlike with everyone else in the world, even his own friends at first, Merlin hadn't seemed to be intimidated by his standing, by his presence, by his words. He hadn't seemed intimidated at all, in fact, and very obviously spoke his mind.

Or maybe it had something to do with that strange feeling, that trembling quiver on the edges of his consciousness, that drew his attention like the memory of a scent, just niggling on the fringes of his awareness and just out of reach. A hint of coldness, an unfamiliar shimmer, that felt just a little magical.

Arthur wasn't sure what it was, and after their first confrontation he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. If you did - or didn't, or just have anything else to say - please take a second to leave a comment to tell me what you think. Thanks so much and I hope you like the rest of the story!


	2. Lady Helen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains a portion of an excerpt from the first Harry Potter book. What it is will be pretty obvious I assume. Sorry if this offends anyone.

                                                                        

The chatter of the first years in the Entrance Hall was laced with as much excitement as apprehension. All of them, at least half a head shorter than Merlin at their tallest, were effectively bouncing on their feet as they waited. Like crickets. Or grinning jack-in-the-boxes.

Merlin deliberately turned away from them towards the closed doors of the Great Hall. They were impressive, to say the least, even given that Merlin recognised them from touring the entirety of the school with Gaius for most of the day. They towered nearly the height of the Entrance Hall itself, wrought in intricate patterns of gold and silver and bronze that reflected the torches lining the spartan room. Merlin knew what was beyond those doors, had peered through them briefly alongside Gaius and stared wide-eyed at the cavernous roof, the ceiling with its depiction of the sky on the other side, the hanging candles, stone walls bedecked in tapestries of the school's houses. Even the long, polished tables, four in parallel lines truncated at the end by a dais holding an adjacent table, was impressive. Merlin had never seen a building quite so big as Hogwarts before, the majority of the those but for the church in Ealdor being low-level and contained, and the Great Hall was by far the largest of the rooms in the castle. It was positively awe-inspiring.

By now that hall would be filled with waiting students slouched onto their pews, seating themselves at the empty tables and laughing and talking and bemoaning the wait they would have to endure as their juniors were sorted into their Houses. Merlin could see them in his minds eye, and the mental image made his stomach flip. He knew of the ceremony that was to come as Gaius had told him but that only seemed to make it worse. Not only did he have to go through an incredibly revealing process, being sorted into a House that apparently aligned with his skills and personality type, but he had to do it in front of the entire school.

Even worse, Merlin was a good two years older than all of the rest of the students being sorted. He struggled to swallow down the rush of bile rising in his throat at the thought of standing not amongst but in front of so many people – he rarely cared what others thought of him but it would be nice to at least make a good first impression. His nervousness set him to plucking at the sleeves of his new school robes as though to pick them of their threading.

A hand dropping onto his shoulder caused Merlin to startle, despite knowing that Gaius was still at his side. Blessedly, far from abandoning him despite what convention dictated, Gaius had stood in stoic companionship as Merlin waited for the older students to pass alongside him into the hall – avoiding their curious gazes as resolutely as he could – and then waiting for the jittery first years to haul themselves up from the Black Lake they'd apparently crossed as a sort of tradition instead of riding the carriages up to school. Merlin had to wonder at the sense of that approach – really? Across the lake in the dark? – but he managed to hold his tongue when Gaius had told him.

"Calm yourself, Merlin," Gaius murmured soothingly, quietly enough to avoid being overheard by the waiting first years. Enough of them were already attending to Gaius because "oh, look, it's a professor!", as though he were some rare beast sighted in an unexpected context. "You do yourself no favours to be a bundle of nerves for the ceremony. No one is going to judge you."

"I'm pretty sure there'd be some judgement if I fall on my face when I inevitably trip over my own feet," Merlin muttered in reply. His clumsiness, what appeared to be a product of the cursed 'puberty' was, according to his mother, endearing. Merlin found it anything but; it was humiliating to trip on air, to fumble with feet that seemed to much prefer a position above his head. Not to mention it was painful, both physically and psychologically. Merlin had grown quite adept at healing grazes and bruises from his many stumbled and face-plants, as much as he had with forcing the memories deliberately from his conscious mind. It was a wonder he hadn't broken more bones than he had; twelve was negligible, all things considered.

Before Gaius could reply, there was a creak from the doors into the Great Hall that immediately silenced the first years. The murmuring chatter of those within filtered out for a moment, floating about the head of a tall, dark-haired man in regal, high-necked robes with a lined face and almost uncannily broad smile. As though charmed to do so, the doors clicked shut behind him. He was the same man that had disappeared only briefly after leading the first years from the shores of the Black Lake. Professor Debois, Gaius had called him.

"Alright, children, settle down, settle down." Debois held a hand aloft, patting at the air to quell the voices that had already silenced at his reappearance. "Now, your future seniors are ready for you. If you'll all form two lines, we can make our way inside and sort you into your houses." His dashing smile somehow broadened further in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring as the first years immediately scrambled to form the requested lines.

Debois nodded approvingly, and, sparing a glance for Merlin and Gaius that held a knowing curiosity, turned and strode with an impressive sweep of his robes back into the Great Hall. If anything, Merlin thought he looked like a bat; a big, cumbersome bat struggling to flap its wings in an attempt to climb into flight. If nothing else, the impression eased Merlin's nerves slightly, leaving him chuckling internally at the image his mind presented.

The Great Hall was an entirely different room when brimming with inhabitants. It seemed smaller, yet infinitely louder and more intimidating. Merlin had never been around so many people before, not in such close quarters, and the brief confrontation with the Hogwarts masses as they passed him minutes before hardly prepared him for it once more. Multiple expressions, of curiosity for a peers whispered words, boredom for the act of enduring the same procedure they did every year, amusement as fingers pointed out the nervous figures of the first years stumbling over their robes as they made their way to the far end of the Hall. Merlin was glad that Gaius touched him with a gentle hand and urged him to remain back at the door. They halted silently, easing along the wall and, to Merlin's relief, appeared to garner little additional attention. Barely a handful of students glanced towards him, some nudging their fellows, but most were distracted by the first years and Debois.

Said professor, striding at the head of the lines like a proud mother goose leading her goslings, held up a quelling hand that halted them in a stumbling steps. One boy with sleeves dangling past his fingers actually fell to the ground, eliciting several snickers from the watching students and faintly indulgent smiles from the distant array of professors. Merlin didn't smile. He felt an onrush of queasiness well within him once more because had the situation been different, had he arrived two years earlier, it would most likely have been him who had fallen to the ground in a furiously blushing heap.

Debois seemed to pull a stool from thin air – he very likely actually did – and with the efficiency of long practice settled the stool upon the dais before the teacher's table and placed a similarly conjured ragged old hat atop it. Silence flooded the room for a moment as everyone stared, seeming to wait for something.

Merlin waited with a different kind of attentiveness. His eyes felt drawn to the hat like a wanderer to a will o' wisp. He could feel it thrumming, hear the almost audible humming and feel the cool waves that radiated from it in almost visible waves. Magic. The slumping old, patch-worked pointed hat seemed so richly embedded with magic that it seemed to have sprung from the fabrics of natural core of earthly magic itself.

Magic spoke to Merlin. It seemed to draw his focus, magnetised, as it didn't really seem to for most others. His mother had said it was because he had a noticeably deep well of magic to draw upon himself, and Merlin could only agree with her idea. He knew no other reason why it would be so. All he knew was that the hat – and the school itself, though in such a more diluted degree comparatively that it seemed almost thinly spread – glowed like a beacon in the dark to his magical senses, rippling through him in hot and cold waves. It set his teeth on edge in a confusing mixture of good and bad tremors, raised the hairs on his arms and drew a shiver across the surface of his skin.

He hardly had long enough to contemplate the feeling, however, for a moment later, as Debois stepped back and folded his hands respectfully before him, the hat seemed to shake. To quiver with something other than the invisible tremors of magical containment. With a faint tearing sound, a poorly sewn seam at the front of its fabric split and gaped wide like a yawning mouth. From it spewed a growling voice that sung the music of magic into Merlin's ears.

_Listen well, young warlock,_

_Dear priestess and kind seer._

_For I've a word to tell you,_

_That may, to you, seem queer._

_  
It starts as grand as olden tales,_

_As deep, bold and profuse._

_Yet hearken to my knowledge,_

_And I'll offer what you'll use._

_  
For my duty is to place you,_

_To look inside your head._

_To poke and prod, to peer and squint,_

_And place you in your stead._

_  
Blind I am, nought but a mouth,_

_Yet disregard me not._

_For with my magics I can see,_

_The character you've got._

_  
So slip me on your head, my dears,_

_And let me take a peek._

_I'll not be cruel but kind, you know,_

_And place you where you seek._

_  
You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart._

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil._

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind._

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind._

_Or perhaps in Slytherin,_

_You'll make your real friends._

_Those cunning folks use any means,_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on, don't be afraid,_

_And don't get in a flap._

_You're in safe hands, though I have none,_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap._

  
Silence.

The words hung suspended in the air, trembling slightly, discordantly, as the hat closed its seam and fell into silence once more. Merlin blinked, feeling as though he'd broken through the surface of a pond and gasped into clear air. The words weren't anything particularly poignant, nor anything he hadn't really already known from reading a number of books regarding Hogwarts and its procedures. He knew all about the houses, had known about the Sorting Hat too, even if the tangible magic it possessed had rocked him on his heels slightly. That dislocation clung to him, even as Gaius patted his arm as though he knew what he'd felt, even as Debois stepped forwards once more and, after a brief statement and another dashingly reassuring smile, began to read out a list of names from an unrolled parchment scroll.

Merlin tried to listen. He really did. But once more, his small town mindset was thrown off balance by the flurry of names. He had never been confronted with more than the few hundred that populated the little township of Ealdor, and in that town everyone knew everyone from birth. It was just the way it was.

Listening to the listed names and watching each unfamiliar face trot and scramble, slip and flinch their way to sitting on the stool and nearly disappear beneath the hat that Debois placed delicately upon their heads, Merlin was overwhelmed for a second time. It took him halfway through the ceremony to realise that Debois was actually reading the students _surnames_ first. After that, Hillberry became James who was sorted into Gryffindor, Nemeth of Ravenclaw turned out to be Mithian, Pinkling was actually Ursula and sorted into Hufflepuff while a slip of a boy, Yendin, the one who had fallen over before to the amusement of the entire hall, was Daegal and sorted into Slytherin. And, before Merlin could shake his head and file the clamouring names neatly into his head, that was the end of them.

Debois stepped sidelong up to the stool once more and, as a babble of chatter arose from the student body, raised his hand for silence in that way that he seemed to be fond of – entirely demanding of attention. Merlin thought he seemed a bit of a prat for the presumptuousness, but kept the thought to himself.

When the noise gradually died, Debois flashed his smile once more. "Now, before we all tuck into our dinners alongside our newly acquired housemates, we have one final sorting to undertake." With a gesture towards the back of the room towards Merlin and Gaius still standing alongside him, Debois offered what could have maybe been considered a welcoming smile. Merlin's stomach, abruptly frantically struggling to tie itself in knots, wasn't given with that impression at all. "We have a knew transfer student joining our third years this evening. As tradition dictates, he too will be sorted into one of our houses and join the ranks of the exemplary students at this school." Another flashing smile. "I would like everyone to please make Mr Merlin Emrys feel welcome. Mr Emrys? Would you come forth to be sorted?"

It took a deliberate nudge from Gaius to urge Merlin to move. He was frozen in a state of mortification at Debois's words, but more than that at the sudden attention that each and every student in the hall abruptly turned upon him. They were like a field of sunflowers turned towards the sun, yet their faces were hardly as adoringly merry, filled more completely with confusion, surprise and, in some few cases, suspicion. One, Merlin noticed, who he took barely a moment to recognise as being Arthur Pendragon, even rolled his eyes before turning his gaze away and dropping his chin into his palm.

Merlin felt his shoulders hunch with the urge to withdraw and had to forcibly shrug off the inclination. With another nudge from Gaius, he jerked forwards and made his slow yet increasingly rapid way down the central aisle of the Great Hall. The words _don't trip, don't trip, don't trip_ chanted like a mantra in his head, and was probably the main reason, even more than a desperate need to avoid those staring eyes, that he kept his gaze firmly affixed to his feet. He nearly fell into the stool Debois gestured towards in relief, even more grateful for the hat that settled upon his head and nearly covered his eyes entirely. Any chance to avoid the gazes of his soon-to-be fellow pupils he would grasp with both hands.

At least, that was what he thought until he felt an upwelling of magic flow over him, wrapping around his head and seeping into his ears like flooding water. He started slightly, all consideration for onlookers discarded, and immediately turned his attention towards the hat upon his head. Like a wary hand, he welled his own magic up within him. Just in case.

 _"My, my, what a curiosity we have here,"_ a voice whispered into Merlin's ear. No, not his ear, or at least he didn't think so. It sounded more like it was spoken directly into his mind, in the gravely, magic-rich tones that had sung but minutes before. _"What a curious mind you have here."_

_Curious? Curious how?_

Merlin didn't speak his thoughts aloud, but the voice seemed to hear them anyway. _"Oh, just that it seems a little jumbled all over the place. It will take a moment, I think, to discern which House would be best suited to you."_ The voice – the hat – hummed thoughtfully. _"I don't suppose you have any preferences?"_

 _Preferences?_ Merlin attempted to train his thoughts directly towards the hat, though he'd never had a whole lot to do with telepathy. It was largely considered to be a near impossible area of magical specialisation. _I didn't know my preferences were considered._

 _"Of course they are. I always consider personal preferences. Above all else, in fact. One cannot learn efficiently if one dislikes the House one is sorted into."_ The voice paused expectantly, then prompted with, " _So?"_

Preferences. Merlin hadn't really thought about it. He'd just expected to get slotted wherever he fit. Maybe into the house with the least number of students to bulk out the ranks or something. But the hat seemed to suggest that there was a whole heap more to it than that.

 _"Well?_ "

 _Well… if I had to choose… I don't really care. Only –"_ An image of Arthur Pendragon rolling his eyes, of Arthur sneering on the streets of Hogsmeade, flared into his mind. _If I could choose, I'd not want to be in the same House as him._

_"Arthur Pendragon? You don't get along."_

_Not… as of yet, it would seem, no. He's a bit of a prat._

As had occurred earlier in the day, the words – or thoughts – slipped out before Merlin could even consider withholding them. He pressed his lips together as though that might do anything to prevent a further repeat performance. He doubted it would. Thoughts were even harder to control than words.

The hat only chuckled in its deep, gravely voice, a sound that was more reminiscent of a cough than an actual laugh. " _Well then, I suppose Gryffindor is off the table."_

_You said it, not me._

The hat laughed once more. " _That I did. A shame, though. You have enough bravery and courage to adequately sit within such a proud house."_

 _Bravery and courage?_ Merlin did his best to attempt a mental snort. _Are we in the same head here?_

 _"Indeed we are,"_ the hat continued. _"But then… I'm not sure that they are the foremost of your characteristics. Perhaps, but then… no, it is all very tangled in here."_

 _Sorry about that,_ Merlin thought, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. He was aware for a moment how long he'd been sitting there and felt the urge to hunch arise once more. But it was only for a moment as the hat continued as though he hadn't spoken _._

_"A keen mind, yes, and enough wit to fit you comfortably within Ravenclaw, but you hardly seem inclined to put your intelligence to studious use. Also a fierce loyalty and compassion for those you hold dear, which would suit Hufflepuff nicely. But then… what is this? What secrets you hide, that you struggle so fiercely to conceal? Such tentative cunning you harbour, alongside a determination to reach your goal…"_

Merlin felt his gut clench, felt an uncomfortable tightness constrict his throat. He swallowed convulsively, hands twitching on the cuffs of his robe with the urge to reach up to the hat and fling it from his head. He didn't want the magical voice to poking around in his book of secrets. Certainly not one secret in particular. _Please don't look at that._

 _"Calm down, calm down, I will not pry. And even if I did I would hardly tell anyone."_ The voice likely meant to be soothing but Merlin was strung too tightly to hear it. _"But I think… yes, I think I have decided. Unless, of course, you have anything to add?"_

Merlin shrugged, physically this time and was aware an instant later how strange it probably looked to the silent audience before him. He brushed the thought aside a moment later; such considerations had never bothered him before – he _didn't_ care what people thought. Not usually. _Fire away._

The hat gave another chuckle, mumbled something unintelligible that was probably directed to itself more than to Merlin, before its voice rung out in a sharp crack through the hall. "SLYTHERIN!"

There was a pause, a pause of silence as Debois lifted the hat from Merlin's head. Then, as though attempting to make up for their momentary delay, the house clad in green and silver ties abruptly set about with a raucous applause. Merlin wasn't sure, but it sounded almost as though it was louder than those that had been offered to the first years. Jumping off the seat and nearly falling prey to a heart attack as he slipped momentarily on the hem of his robes, he trotted down the steps towards the waiting House. A space between two boys who looked about his age appeared with some deliberate reshuffling and he fell into it gratefully, sparing a glance either side him before falling onto the pew.

He caught a glimpse of Gaius as he seated himself down silently and unobtrusively at the professors table beside a woman Merlin recognised as being his wife, Alice. Gaius nodded his head in recognition, not any particular flicker of approval or disapproval colouring his features. Merlin knew his uncle had been a Hufflepuff and had wondered, but… no, Gaius didn't seem concerned in the slightest at his placement.

It was the glimpse he caught as his eyes grazed briefly over the rest of the hall that gave him pause. On the far side, in the table seating countless boys and girls in red and gold ties, Arthur stared at him pointedly. Merlin didn't know why his gaze settled upon the other boy for a moment, but he wished it hadn't. Especially when Arthur, aware of their mutual stare, very deliberately rolled his eyes and mouthed silent words that could only be "Of course".

Merlin snapped his attention away a moment later. He didn't know what Arthur had meant by that, but it hardly mattered. He'd already decided he disliked the other boy, which was significant for him as he'd rarely felt anything more negative than a mild annoyance towards another person in his entire life, with the exception of maybe Kanen from back home. But in this instance, that annoyance had grown to something deeper and Merlin was instantly relieved that he had asked the hat to place him in a house other than that which Arthur seemed so righteously comfortable in.

Anything to be away from the giant, pig-headed prat.

* * *

"Wait, so your _mother_ is Hunith Emrys?"

Merlin shrugged, as had become his customary response to any question that seemed vaguely accusatory that evening. He took pride in the fact that he was already sifting through his repertoire of responses and evidently allocating the correct ones to the appropriate situations. "Last time I checked, yeah."

"You mean _your mother_ is the famously acclaimed experimental Healer? The one who discovered the magical cure to blindness and made the first big leap in remedying optical deficiencies?" The fourth year girl who, as far as Merlin could tell, was named Meira – first name or last, he wasn't quite sure – leaned across the table towards him intently. The grasp she held upon her knife and fork turned her knuckles white.

Merlin shrugged once more, fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably. It wasn't that he felt ashamed or even uncomfortable talking about his mother – far from it, in fact – but Hunith's skills and practices in experimentation had become something of a taboo topic at home after her accident. She was nervous enough using any sort of magic, let alone speaking of her past endeavours in complex practices, and Merlin had adopted some of her uneasiness.

Meira sat back in her seat, falling into the paradoxically straight-backed slouch that seemed to be favoured amongst a number of the Slytherins. She shook her head, a hint of wonder touching her features. "Unbelievable. I can't believe I'm sitting across from _Hunith Emrys'_ son."

Fidgeting awkwardly, Merlin went back to swirling at the peas on his plate. He hadn't much of an appetite, what with the fading adrenaline only just seeping from his veins to be replaced by nervousness when his surrounding housemates had begun a rapid fire of questions towards him almost as soon as he'd sat down.

"Where are you from?"

"Why are you starting school in third year?"

"Is your name really Merlin? Seriously?"

"What was your pre-school Minor Magicals Exam score?"

"Emrys? I'm not altogether familiar with that name. Are you a pureblood? Half-blood? You couldn't be a Muggleborn, surely."

And, perhaps most cuttingly of all: "Did you even learn anything from home schooling? It seems an awfully unproductive method of education."

Merlin had answered as best he could without giving offence. That he was from southern Ireland, towards the lower reaches or Cork. That his mother had suggested he would learn more holistically through institutional education, having reached what she considered the furthest extensions she could manage in some subjects. That yes, his name really was Merlin and no, he hadn't taken his Minor Magicals Exam, that no one from his town had and that he didn't think that meant he was so underachieving that the Ministry didn't bother with requesting their results. He was a third generation half-blood on his mother's side and no that did _not_ mean that her ability to home school him was inadequate.

All of which Merlin had said with as much courtesy as he could attempt, of course. He sincerely didn't want to offend anyone, despite the fact that the sharp-edged questions seemed to have little to no consideration for offending him in return. At least Meira had interrupted with her question before he could grow too uncomfortable and hiss objections at the next person who dismissed the knowledge acquired from home schooling.

"Salazar, you're _such_ a Ravenclaw, Meira," a boy – he looked about fifth year – rolled his eyes from beside her. "Honestly, how is it that you've heard of someone like that? Medical magic isn't even offered as a school subject."

Meira scowled at the boy and flipped her dark hair at him in a way that whipped dangerously close to his face. He didn't even flinch. "Haven't you ever listened Livingstone? He always talks about his protégé Hunith, reminiscing about the fact that he'd never seen a student quite so naturally gifted in the arts of doctoring as she was. How have you _not_ heard of her?"

"Well, _I_ have," the boy replied with a pursing of his lips. "But it's not like I go and look up every name that is whispered by every single professor. _Honestly_ , you're so Ravenclaw."

Meira was effectively distracted by her aggressive form of defence, turning towards the boy, and Merlin sighed at being momentarily released from being at the centre of attention. It wasn't exactly somewhere that he liked being; he didn't have a problem with talking to others, quite enjoyed being around people, actually, but so many people? And all talking at once, and asking questions that he wasn't sure were directed towards him, and demanding answers when he thought those questions _weren't_ for him but actually were… It was all a little overwhelming. Merlin was happy for the moment to fall back to prodding his peas and peering around the room.

It was a different perspective afforded entirely glimpsing the Great Hall from a seat at the Slytherin table rather than from the doors at the back of the room, or the daunting elevation of the stool atop the dais. It was far less intimidating, for one. Merlin could observe others without being the focus of attention himself, and scanned each table, attempting to familiarise himself with faces for no other reason than that it felt strange not recognising any of them. Other than Arthur Pendragon, of course, and Michael Morris, and several other boys that he recalled from encountering earlier that day scattered about the hall. He deliberately looked over each of them, even Michael who, he had noticed, actually glared at him accusingly when he met his gaze. Merlin felt mildly indignant of that. What had he done wrong, exactly, other than try and defend the other boy?

_Whatever. It's not like I have to talk to him if he doesn't like me. At least he's not one of my dorm mates._

The sound of dinnertime chatter echoed around the cavernous hall, weaving through the aromas of steaming platters and sweet juices. The clink of cutlery chimed alongside the clatter of cups as they were snatched up, sipped at and dropped back onto the hardwood tables. It was loud, louder than Merlin was used to, but not necessarily in a bad way. He found that, at least when he wasn't at the mercy of merciless questioning, it was quite comfortable. Entertaining, and curious. There was always something happening, always something to look at.

Like the square-faced boy on Ravenclaw table who snorted pumpkin juice from his nostrils as he and his friends descended into guffaws of laughter.

Like the second years at the end of Gryffindor table who appeared to be competing to see who could fit the greatest number of baked potatoes into their mouths.

Like the precise and somehow subtle food fight that was taking place at Slytherin table, with one person unobtrusively launching a pea at their fellow several places down, only for the victim to retaliate to the wrong suspected attacker. Somehow they managed not to descend into all-out warfare.

Even the kind-faced girl at Hufflepuff table who seemed to have taken it upon herself to comfort some of the evidently nervous first years at her table and engage them in animated conversation caught Merlin's eye. The girl herself didn't look any older than he was.

It was all fascinating to watch, not so much because any particular behaviour was unusual but because there was simply so much happening at once. Merlin almost couldn't keep up, his eyes flickering from student to student, tilting his head at each noise and fighting the urge to spin in his seat to see everything better. He didn't want to look strange, at least not on his first night.

It was the professors table that captured his interest most, however. He'd heard tell of each of the figures, had a hazy suspicion of who was who from the descriptions Gaius had given him, from those that Alice had relayed in her letter. It was a different thing entirely to see them for himself, however. Distracted even from fiddling with his peas, he studied one professor in particular, a bowed, elderly woman with more wrinkles on her face than even Mrs Featherbell back home had. He blinked in bemusement as she preened over a creature that perched waveringly upon her shoulder. It looked like a bird of sorts, vaguely reminiscent of an owl except for the fact that it had four legs. Grey of colour save for a pair of startlingly red wings, it peered around the Great Hall with pupil-less yellow eyes. It completely ignored the woman whose shoulder it perched upon, too. Merlin thought that she might have been Professor Collins, but he couldn't be sure. Alice hadn't suggested she was _that_ old.

"Which one are you having trouble with?"

Merlin turned from his study to the boy seated to his right. He'd been introduced briefly as Muirden, just as the boy on his other side, Sigan, and that seated next to him, McCavrick had voiced their own names and identified themselves as being his dorm mates. Muirden hadn't introduced himself but had left the role to his peers.

He was evidently a quiet boy, softly spoken, though he didn't appear shy. Dirty blond hair hung across his forehead and he'd kept is chin tucked for the majority of the welcoming feast. It was only when he turned towards Merlin, speaking to him for the first time, that Merlin caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a mottled birthmark streaked across the entire right side of his face. Or at least Merlin hoped it was a birthmark; he had his suspicions that it might have arisen from magical origins, however, given that it was white like scar tissue rather than ruddy and had a slightly silver sheen to it.

Merlin slowly drew his gaze away from it as soon as he noticed it; he'd been introduced to enough of his mother's patients, maimed, injured and diseases magical and otherwise, to know how to respond. _Don't stare, but don't ignore entirely because that's just as obvious and demeaning as staring,_ Hunith's words rung in his mind as though she spoke in his ear.

'Trouble?"

Muirden nodded his head towards the professor's table. "Which professor? Which one are you trying to work out? I could help you with identifying them if you'd like."

Understanding, Merlin made a vague gesture towards the head table. "The one with the bird. Is that…?"

"Collins," Muirden supplied, confirming Merlin's suspicions. "She's a bit of strange one." He shot Merlin a sidelong glance that told him 'a bit strange' was an understatement.

"She teaches Herbology, doesn't she?" Merlin asked. He strove to keep his voice casual, when in actuality he felt a rush of relief that the boy beside him, the boy in his own year, was speaking to him. He'd had little enough friends in his life and hadn't really wished for more, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Or at least someone who didn't actively ignore him.

Before Muirden could reply, however, the boy Sigan on the other side of Merlin spoke for him. "That she does. We all think she grows something that sends her loopy. Gilli swears he saw he smoking one time just before one of our lessons last year." He smirked, an expression that seemed to fit his thin face a little too well, as he gestured to the plump boy beside him. "Tell him, Gilli."

McCavrick – or Gilli, apparently – nodded and held up a finger in the universal sign for 'wait' as he finished a mouthful of kidney pie. When he spoke, it was in an accent thick with a Scottish lilt. "I did. I swear I did. And I'd bet she saw me too, from how she treated me afterwards."

Sigan rolled his eyes. "You can't blame the fact that you nearly failed your exam last year on some perceived dislike for you."

"I can if it's true."

"Which it's not."

Gilli shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and turned back to his pie. "Believe what you want."

Sigan rolled his eyes once more and turned his attention back towards Merlin. "Anyway, regardless of Gilli's perceived slight –"

"It's real," Gilli muttered through another mouthful.

Sigan ignored him. "Edwin's right. Collins is a bit of a weird one."

"I think that might be the first time you've ever actually agreed with something I've said, Cornelius," Muirden – or Edwin, it appeared – murmured. "There you go, there's a first for everything."

Merlin shook his head as Cornelius replied with a scathing remark. Cornelius, or Sigan, and Edwin Muirden, and Gilli McCavrick … why did everyone have to call each other by their surnames one minute and their first names another? Merlin didn't particularly care which was used but it would be easier for him to remember if people just stuck to using _one_ name.

Glancing back up towards the head table, he gave another small bemused smile as he watched Collins attempt to feed the bird on her shoulder what appeared to be a leaf of some kind. The bird was having none of it, turning its golden beak resolutely in the opposite direction, though Collins didn't seem to realise its indifference to the offering. "Why does she have a bird?" He'd have thought that if anyone would have one it would be the professor for Care of Magical Creatures.

Cornelius, who seemed to have taken over from Edwin's quiet attempt to converse with Merlin, swung his attention back to him. "You mean Lady Helen?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Helen?"

"Yeah, that's the name of the bird. 'Lady Helen'." Cornelius rolled his eyes once more in a gesture that Merlin was rapidly realising was something of a favourite of his. "Stupid name, I know. Anyway, she got this strix egg from some breeder or other about two years ago or something and has been nesting it since. It hatched last year."

Merlin felt his eyebrows rise. He thought the bird had looked familiar; he'd seen a small sketch of it in one of his textbooks years ago. "A strix? Aren't they dangerous? Don't they –?"

"Feed on human flesh and blood?" Edwin muttered with something like exasperation at Merlin's side before Cornelius could beat him to it. "Yes, they are. But not until they're fully matured, and females take two years to do so to the males' one." He frowned up at the head table. "Helen's a female so she's probably got a few months left in her before the Headmaster tells Collins she has to ship her off."

"If he could manage to convince her," Cornelius muttered, snorting loud enough that he drew a startled frown from Gilli.

Merlin turned once more towards Collins and her bird. Even knowing, and recalling with growing certainty, the words from his textbook that validated Edwin's words, he couldn't help but feel uneasy with the presence of the bird in the school. No, they might not be classified as 'dangerous' until matured, but that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with waiting for that maturity to blossom within the strix. What if the bird decided to mature early?

Glancing towards Edwin – who seemed to be the more educated on the subject of the two boys – Merlin idly picked up his fork and plucked at it nervously between his fingers. "Don't they have that song thing? Isn't that sort of dangerous?"

"The Song of a Hundred Year Sleep." Edwin nodded, pausing to grimace in distaste as he flicked a mushroom from his boeuf bourguignon. "Yeah, but that's only the males. They sing the prey to sleep, then the females go and eat them."

"Tough life," Merlin murmured, offering a half-smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Sucks to be a bloke."

It worked, for Edwin chuckled too. He blinked, seemingly surprised by the fact, before replying. "Yeah, I guess so." He shook his head. "Good thing Lady Helen's a girl, I guess."

Their conversation was cut short by a startling vanishing act that disappeared every dish and half-eaten meal from the table. An instant later, piles of pudding, buckets of ice-cream and platters of artfully cut fruit appeared in their place. "Dessert!" Gilli announced unnecessarily, and he wasn't the only one. One of the girls across the table who Merlin considered were probably in his year, echoed him moments later with a delighted flap of her hands.

Cornelius, predictably by this point, rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're such a child."

"What?" Merlin asked, glancing towards him at the mention of his name.

Cornelius blinked, frowned, then snorted in amusement. "Bloody hell, that's going to get confusing. Do you ever find it annoying when people invoke the Great Wizard Merlin around you?"

Merlin, understanding, bit back a sigh. No, he didn't find it annoying. Mostly because everyone in Ealdor actually seemed to automatically accommodate his name and remove such invocations from their vocabulary at large. He hadn't anticipated that a resurfacing of confusion that had largely been absent from his life would cause difficulties. "I guess."

Cornelius shook his head and even Edwin adopted an expression of sympathy. "Sucks to be you. Your parents were obviously cruel."

"Not really," Merlin muttered, but he doubted either Cornelius or Edwin heard him. They'd already set about refilling their plates.

Throughout dessert, Edwin made good his offer to help Merlin identify the rest of the professors. Or at least he tried to, all the while evading Cornelius's interruptions. For all that he was quietly spoken, and had remained mute up until he'd first spoken to Merlin, he was more than capable of rattling off his personal opinion of each of

"Master Livingstone you obviously know, and Professor Livingstone too, I guess?" He nodded towards Alice and Gaius. The short, elderly witch with her permanently affixed smile that drew wrinkles across her face less disastrously than those on Collins had waved to Merlin already throughout the evening before turning back to her conversation with her husband. "She teaches Potions and she's actually probably one of the nicest teachers. A shame that she's Hufflepuff's head teacher and not ours, though she's probably a little too soft-hearted to be Slytherin.

"Next to her is Aredian." He gestured towards a thin man with downcast eyes and a receding blond hairline. "He's… well, he's not _cruel_ –"

"He's a wanker," Cornelius said around a mouthful of apple pie. "Good thing he only teaches Arithmancy so we don't _have_ to have him if we don't choose his subject."

"Yes, thank you for your input, Cornelius," Edwin murmured, too quietly for Cornelius to hear properly. Cornelius glared at him anyway and Merlin had to bite back a smile. "Anyway, next to him is Alator, and he teaches History. He's –"

"Also a wanker," Cornelius supplied, cutting across Edwin. At Edwin's long-suffering sigh, he frowned. "Well, he is! He teaches so boringly –"

"That's just because his subject is dry," Edwin muttered.

"- and then complains when we have trouble remembering which day in which months in which year the goblin Grumblesnatch fell over and stubbed his toe."

"Grumblesnatch? I haven't heard of him. Is he very famous?" Merlin asked innocently.

Cornelius stared at him for a moment, blinking. It was only when he noticed Edwin struggling to hide a snigger at his side that he adopted a smirk once more. "Ha. You're alright, Merlin. Even if you do have an appalling name."

"Thanks?"

"The professor next to Alator," Edwin continued, evidently deciding to move on from Cornelius's interruption once more and pointing to a plae-haired man with a kindly face, "is Gorlois. He's –"

"He teaches Charms," Cornelius supplied, though the words were barely understandable though the mouthful of ice-cream he'd spooned into his cheeks like a chipmunk. "Real master of spells, he is, and he's supposed to be an incredible dueller. Which is a shame because –"

"Let me guess. He's a wanker?" Merlin asked.

Cornelius snorted, chuckling around his mouthful. "No, actually, he's alright. One of the better ones, actually. I just meant that it's a shame that Debois teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts because Gorlois would make a pretty adept instructor for that subject if he wasn't. Nicer, too."

"He's Ravenclaw's Head of House," Edwin added. Merlin nodded his head and offered a grateful smile. He'd already known that but wouldn't spit the offer of information in the face.

"Debois's the professor on the other side of the Headmaster, right? The one who did the sorting?"

Edwin nodded. "Yeah, he's the Deputy. Head of Gryffindor and –"

"A wanker," Cornelius interrupted. Merlin couldn't help but laugh, which was a surprise in itself. He still felt a quiver of nerves in his belly and hadn't anticipated himself capable of open laughter. At least not yet.

"Why is he a wanker?"

Cornelius shrugged. "Just is. He's really biased towards Gryffindors and everyone knows that Gryffindors carry a stigma against Slytherins."

"It's true," Edwin said, agreeing with Cornelius with evident reluctance. "And worse than that, he always wears this _really_ obviously fake smile when he talks to you that I suppose he thinks is fooling everyone but anybody with half a brain can see straight through."

Merlin nodded his understanding. He hadn't seen much of Debois but he knew the smile Edwin referred to. He'd seen through it in a second and was mildly relieved that he hadn't been the only one to do so. He vowed to keep the stigma that Edwin mentioned in mind, though made the resolution to reach his own conclusion on the matter – it wouldn't do to immediately jump on board with other's resentment . "So the professor next to him must be Professor Catrina?" The only other witch on the predominantly male staff table was a regally attractive middle-aged woman, sitting straight backed and coiling a curl of her long, dark hair around a finger as she picked daintily at her dessert. "She's Head of Slytherin, isn't she?"

Edwin nodded. "Dame Catrina, yeah. She's nice enough. Next to her is Iseldir – he teaches astronomy and you usually can't find him any time the sun's up – and he's talking to Osgar who takes Ancient Runes. He's apparently good enough at his translations but a bit of a slacker with teaching so keep an eye out for him if you've taken his subject." He pointed his fork towards the man next to Osgar, dropping an elbow into the table. "That there's Professor Smith. He's –"

"Got to be one of the best teachers there is," Cornelius overrode Edwin. "Somehow he manages to make Muggle Studies seem fun. Shame he's got such a shitty subject."

Merlin had to bite back the urge to speak in defence of Muggle Studies. He personally found Muggle culture fascinating, what with having so little to do with it at all in the Wizarding community of Ealdor. Most of his town was like that – they didn't have all that much to do with the Muggle world but generally seemed to find it interesting enough. Certainly enough that several Muggle artefacts had made it into Mrs McCaulough's _Bits and Bobs_ store.

The few trips Merlin taken to Cork had been a whirlwind of fascination that was as unhinging as it was captivating. Evidently Cornelius didn't show similar appreciation for Muggles and their world. Merlin would have to keep that in mind too; he didn't approve of many of the prejudices towards Muggles and Muggleborns, what with his mother's steadfast appreciation for the world at large and the vague interest of the rest of his town. But even so he felt it was too early in their tentative friendship to attempt to rectify Cornelius's views. He'd rather approach the situation slowly and cordially than speak his mind immediately and risk annoying the other boy. It was a struggle to hold his tongue – something that Will had always commented he was poor at and teased him for – but he somehow managed.

"Smith is next to Geoffreys – he's the librarian – and on the end is Seward. He takes Magical Creatures."

"Right," Merlin said, nodding slowly. He thought he had it, could stick the faces and demeanours to the names he'd memorised before coming to Hogwarts. He frowned, however, as he did a quick count of heads. "Who's missing then?"

Edwin smiled with a hint of approval that baffled Merlin. It was almost as though he viewed him as having passed some test of sorts, though if that was the sort of test he posed it was terribly easy. "Yeah, Taliesen takes Divination but he's absent even more than Iseldir is from the Great Hall. Doesn't like to be around people all that much."

"And…" Merlin raked through his memories. "Professor Tauren, was it? He teaches –"

"Alchemy," Edwin nodded. "But… no, forget what I just said, 'cause he's the most absent out of all of the teachers. You won't see him unless you take his class."

"Why's that?" Merlin asked curiously.

"He hates the Headmaster," Gilli said, leaning around Cornelius to partake in the conversation he'd appeared hitherto oblivious to. "Word is that they had this massive tiff years and years ago, something about pureblood and Muggleborn conflict, and he's resented Headmaster Pendragon ever since."

"Would you _not_ spray me with pudding," Cornelius scowled, elbowing Gilli away from where he half leant across him. Merlin though he was merely being objectionable to Gilli's input because he hadn't seen and sprayed pudding. The plain, square-faced boy appeared nice enough, if a little nonchalant towards the prospect of engaging in conversation. He appeared anything but nonchalant under the abuse of Cornelius's elbow, however. Unfortunately – or perhaps fortunately – any objection he may have given was stemmed by the abrupt vanishing of dessert, platters and cutlery all.

As one, despite the speckling mutters of complaints at the suddenness of the disappearance of sweets, every head in the Great Hall turned towards the head table. Or, more correctly, towards Headmaster Pendragon as he rose from his throne-like seat and raise a hand for silence. He did it far less presumptuously than Debois had, however; Merlin was given the impression of a stately king quelling the flurry of his people rather than the petulant lordling straining for every inch of height as he threw orders around willy-nilly.

The effect was intensified by the figure Pendragon presented himself, a figure that Merlin immediately saw so much of Arthur in that it would have been impossible for him to consider them anything but related. Pendragon was tall and broad, with wide shoulders that were hidden not at all by the elegant fall of his dark grey robes. He shared the same hard, straight features of his son, and even from a distance the keen sharpness of his eyes could be discerned. His hair was more on the cusp of becoming grey, gold paled to ash-blond, yet though wrinkles lined his forehead just noticeably he still held himself straight and presentable. Merlin was given the impression that, should he have the misfortune of still knowing Arthur in thirty years time, he would be the spitting image of the Headmaster.

The voices of the students ceased more rapidly than Merlin would have thought possible given their number – two-hundred and fifty by his count, give or take a few. Merlin could almost see ears pricking as Pendragon began to speak, his deep, rich tones cast throughout the hall in an effect that seemed almost magical.

"Welcome, dear students. Welcome those returning and those beginning anew. As ever, it is a delight to see such promising, eager faces, no doubt keen to begin a new term of education." There was a faint play of amusement on the headmaster's lips that suggested he spoke with just a little sarcasm. No one spoke, though several of the teachers smiled too. "I have but a few announcements to make before I will release you to seek your beds. Firstly, I would like to congratulate Mr Bedivere of Gryffindor house and Mr Valiant of Slytherin house for their promotion to captains of their respective quidditch teams. We look forward to what you both can bring to the game this year."

There was a polite round of applause, led by the headmaster, to which Merlin dutifully added his own claps. Dutifully because he hardly cared much for quidditch at all. Nor really even for flying, despite that Will was an avid participant of the sport. He almost had to be, what with his father being a broom-maker.

Pendragon continued as the applause trickled into silence. "Secondly, I would caution that students remain at a minimum ten meter distance from both the Black Lake and the edge of Forbidden Forest this year unless accompanied by a professor. We have been gifted with two remarkable events this year in our magical creatures capacity; not only has our harem of unicorns produced a trio of foals but the sirens of the lake have birthed their own daughter for the first time in over a decade." The headmaster actually smiled at that, though only slightly. "Very happy times indeed, though undoubtedly both species will be exceptionally territorial in the coming months."

Not applause but whispers sprung to life the wake of Pendragon's words. Merlin blinked in faint surprise as much as his own incessantly budding curiosity. Though he'd read of the array of magical creatures kept on the grounds of Hogwarts – from unicorns and acromantula in the Forest to mermaids, sirens and grindylows in the Black Lake – he'd not known that they were quite so populace as to have anything resembling herds. It was quite exciting, actually, and Merlin felt a tingling ripple well within him.

He wasn't alone in considering it curious, it would seem, as far be it from appearing fearful of the potentially dangerous sirens – unicorns were hardly concerning, being about as placid as creatures came – the surrounding students seemed to bubble with something like excitement, with a few expressing faint apprehension at worst. The whispers were silenced a moment later, however, when Pendragon held up his hand once more.

"And finally, as always, a simple reminder that the Eastern Wing of the dungeons is out of bounds. Any found wandering the corridors in that region will be allocated a detention." The headmaster gave another tokenistic smiled, though it was tighter this time and faintly regretful. "Now, on that happy note, I draw our welcoming feast to a close. Goodnight to all."

 _Happy note indeed_ , Merlin muttered to himself. He hadn't especially needed the reminder of the restrictions and protocols that would be instilled upon him for the first time in his life. Oh, Hunith had been severe in her reprimands and hard-hearted in her punishments in the instances of Merlin's foolishness, but she had never grounded him as he knew some parents did, nor ordered him to do anything more strenuous than chores.

That detentions would be reminiscent of chores was all Merlin could hope for. Not that he intended to subject himself to detentions but it was a possibility. He was not unaware of the fact that he had never – _ever_ – been in a situation similar to that which he was about to inflict upon himself. It would be a miracle if he didn't slip up at least a couple of times.

The scrape of benches signalled the rising of students to their feet, the chatter of conversation picking up once more. Merlin rose beside Edwin and Cornelius, peering along the length of the table for the house prefects. They would be the ones to lead the first years to the dormitories for the first time, and though Merlin was sure he would find his way simply by following his other housemates, he'd rather learn the route from those that were supposed to be directing the newbies. Besides, apparently the common rooms and dormitories had a password of sorts that only the prefects knew on the first night back on school grounds. Merlin didn't much fancy sleeping out in the corridors because he didn't know the password into his bedroom.

He wasn't given a chance to make his way to the nearest prefects, however. Nor was anyone else for that matter. Not a person had taken more than a handful of steps towards the doors of the Great Hall when a sudden burst of music sliced through the air.

Everyone froze. As one, steps ceased, heads cocked, eyes widened and wondering smiles touched lips at the sound that rippled like a wave through the air. At the music.

Everyone except Merlin.

It wasn't music to Merlin. It was pure magic that coiled like a ribbon and reached out to every pricked ear and tilted head. Not as powerful but _thicker_ than the magic that he'd felt from the hat. But more than that, it was shadowed. It was opaque and almost visible. It carried the weight of compulsion that Merlin had only felt once before but would never forget.

Merlin's hands slapped to his ears almost painfully with the speed that he raised them. His magic welled within him, reacting to the flipping in his gut, and stoppered his ears more effectively than his fingers could. As though shuttered behind thick, impregnable windows, the music magic abruptly ceased to pervade his senses.

Slowly, Merlin turned in the direct he could still feel the magic pulsing from. He couldn't hear it anymore, but it brushed and tickled past his magical sixth sense, fluttering like droplets of icy droplets of rain against his skin. To his magical sight, it draped across the air in wafting tendrils, sticky and gossamer thin like threads of a silver-white spider web. His eyes drew towards the head table, towards the professors, drawn as though magnetised to the –

To the strix.

The owl-like bird – Lady Helen, Cornelius had called her – was standing tall upon Collins' shoulder, beak stretched wide and golden eyes glowing luminescent. Her red wings were stretched slightly from her body. No, not _her_ body, Merlin abruptly realised. Realised as his eyes darted to those around him, to the frozen figures that listened as though spell-bound – which they quite literally were. They only made a motion from their rigidity when, slowly at first but then with increasing speed, eyes slipped closed and legs folded as consciousness slipped into induced sleep.

 _His_ song. The song of the male strix. Somehow, impossibly, the sex of the strix had passed undetected by Collins and just about everyone else.

Glancing quickly towards the head table, hands still clasped as a precaution over his ears, Merlin shook his head in horror. How could the professors not have known? How could they not have realised? He'd thought it daring to have even an immature female strix in the school, but the male was evidently matured enough to manifest its verbal magic. And whether it was the fact that they were closer to the bird than the students or were simply just as unprepared as everyone else in the hall, most of the teachers appeared to be drifting towards sleep themselves. The headmaster had slumped back into his seat, eyes hooded and a relaxed smile upon his face. Those alongside him looked similarly comfortable and languid, while Collins was already out for the count, slouching fully back in her seat with mouth hanging open and eyes folded shut.

In fact, the only other person in the hall that appeared unaffected by the magic was Seward. _And so he should be,_ Merlin thought, eyes darting towards him. _He's the teacher for Care of Magical Creatures. He_ should _have recognised the song, if not the magic. He should have recognised that the strix was a_ boy!

Seward had his hands similarly clasped over his ears, but it didn't seem to be doing all that much good save to staving off the immediate effects of the magic upon him. His eyes were wide, something bordering on panic visible even across the distance between them, and he was breathing heavily enough that his ruddy cheeks quivered with each inhalation. It took Merlin a moment of uncomprehending wonder – because why wasn't he doing anything? – before he understood the dilemma.

Seward couldn't drop his hands from his ears. He couldn't spare even the few seconds to grab his wand and counteract the effects of the strix's voice. Despite the fact that an increasing number of students were slumping to the ground, that several of the professors – including Gaius! – had slowly closed their eyes, Seward couldn't do anything.

 _You've got to be kidding me_.

Merlin started when, at his side, Edwin slipped with a tumble back onto the bench. He made a grab for him before the other boy could slide to the floor and crack his head on the marble. Edwin's face was spread into a blissful smile that didn't look quite natural upon his face, his eyes closed as if in sleep. Which, Merlin realised, they were. The Sleep of a Hundred Years, unless he did something about it.

Cornelius's body thumping to the ground behind him decided him. It wasn't that he didn't want to help his fellow students but… but Merlin had _never_ been in a situation like this before. He'd never had cause to force himself to act in desperation for the communal benefit of hundreds of people. But there was no one else, apparently, because some eccentric Herbology professor had decided that she were going to hatch a dangerous magical creature and keep it. On school grounds. Amidst hundred of under-aged witches and wizards.

Such foolishness didn't do much for Merlin's confidence in the school.

Lowering Edwin to the floor, wincing as Gilli joined the rest of the students falling around him, Merlin started to his feet. Nearly tripping in his haste, he scrambled towards the head table. It was a struggle to clamber over as much as through the spellbound students.

Whether the strix foresaw the impending danger or not Merlin didn't care. He didn't give the four-legged bird a chance to do more than flutter in an ungainly fall from Collins' limp shoulder onto the back of her chair before he lunged across the table and wrapped both arms around it. Around its neck, to the screech and mad, scrambling batting of its wings. He ignored the sharp, curved beak that turned upon his fingers, scratching stinging gashes into his skin just as he ignored his natural hesitancy to cast magic at all – hesitancy that Merlin had always felt just a little. He pulsed a caging ring of magic from his hands, wandlessly and wordlessly, and wrapped it around the bird's throat. A burst of golden-white magic sprung from his fingers and, like a collar, fastened shut around its neck.

Merlin released the bird the second he was certain that the magical binding was completed. Stumbling backwards and nearly falling head-over-heels down the steps of the dais, Merlin retreated from what was abruptly and obviously a very angry bird. The pupil-less golden eyes glared at him and its beak opened and closed in snapping clicks, wings still batting violently enough that Collins' wispy hair was cast aflutter.

But there was no more music. No more magic. Merlin could see it, the silver spider webs of magic that had erupted into existence at the strix's song fading like sunlight before shadow. The bird's wings snapped and flapped, scattering feathers of down about it in a snowstorm of indignation.

Merlin took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. _Well. Not exactly how I'd hoped my first night at school would go._ He shook his head. Then nearly fell over once more in a start of surprise as a hand touched his shoulder.

It was Seward, Merlin realised. The portly young man – for he couldn't have been much older than twenty himself, as became apparent from viewing him up close – was opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to speak. No, he was speaking, Merlin realised; Merlin just couldn't hear him. With a hasty tap of his fingers to his ears, he drained out the magic that had deafened him.

"… alright, then we'll see what we can do about the strix," Seward was saying in slow, deliberate words. He evidently hadn't realised that Merlin couldn't hear him, but it hardly mattered. Merlin could guess at the words he'd missed. "You just take a seat here, and I'll make sure everyone's alright."

Nodding, more than grateful for the opportunity to pass the situation over to someone else – even if that someone else was apparently largely incompetent – Merlin lowered himself to the steps of the dais and wrapped his arms around his knees. His hands were smarting and he winced as he inspected his fingers, his knuckles and his palms that dribbled droplets of blood from numerous shallow slices. Easily fixed, however; Merlin knew more than his fair share of cutaneous healing charms. He didn't like casting spells around other people, not where they could see him and feel the spells effects – which was something that being at school was likely going to help him get over – but then… well, he'd already done more than demonstrate a noticeable magical display.

 _"Curareo,_ " he muttered, easing out some of his magic from the cool, calm centre in his chest and directing it towards his hands. He was practiced with simplistic magic, had long had basic first aid drilled into him by his mother, so it wasn't particularly difficult, even as tightly strung as his nerves were. He spoke the spell, however; it was always easier to speak the specific words of instruction when he had deliberate intent than to simply _want_ an outcome. In other cases, as with the strix, he'd simply reacted instinctively. All things considered, he was lucky that things had worked out as well as they had.

Raising his gaze from the skin on his hands knitting itself rapidly into repair, Merlin glanced around the room. Slowly, with jerks from some and yawns from others, the students before him seemed to be crawling out of their induced slumber. Even those that had collapsed to the floor were awakening with groans, rubbing at bruised heads and scratching at eyes abruptly turned gritty.

Turning towards the head table, Merlin was relieved to see that the majority of the professors – with the exception of Collins' – had regained their own consciousness. Aredian and Alator were wearing identical expressions of distaste as they gestured and wove their wands in a series of wordless motions, directed towards the stix and evidently meant to bind it in place for the invisible yet tangible magical strands that wrapped the bird. Merlin could feel them if not see them, and felt marginally reassured by their presence.

His attention was drawn to Seward, however, as he spoke quickly and quietly with the headmaster. Merlin could only just make out his words.

"It must have been a male, obviously, though I don't know how it concealed its gender. Some species have been known to do that; it's likely an attempt of lulling potential victims into a false sense of security before spontaneously initiating the song."

Pendragon shook his head, his face grim as he set a stare that was nearly a glare upon the bound strix grumbling on its chair-back perch. Though his eyes still wore the heaviness of sleep, there was hard determination in the set of his jaw and the thinness of his lips. At least Merlin was reassured that he was unhappy with the situation; hopefully that meant that such attacks weren't all that common of an occurrence.

Hopefully.

"But why did it start to sing at all?" He asked. "What triggered it?"

"My best guess?" Seward shrugged, though the gesture was anything but casual from the tightness of his shoulders. "It saw the departure of the students as potential victims escaping and so took measures to prevent them from doing so."

Pendragon shook his head once more. His lips thinned further as he turned to Seward. "You counteracted the song, then?"

Seward shook his head. "No, Headmaster, not me. I was not able to draw my own wand." He half-turned and gestured towards Merlin. Some of his tension eased into appreciation bordering on something that Merlin hadn't seen before and couldn't quite identify. "That would be our newest student's efforts." Raising his voice just slightly, Seward took half a step towards Merlin. "You cast a variation of a Deafening Charm upon yourself, did you not, Mr Emrys?"

Merlin felt his cheeks flush, both to be caught eavesdropping and to be the focus of their combined attentions. Pendragon and Seward, and that of several other professors too as they turned their attention towards the headmaster's conversation. Swallowing down his discomfort, Merlin shrugged before realising that such a reply was probably not adequate for his superiors. "Um… yes, sir. At least, I think so. Sir."

"You think so?" Pendragon raised an eyebrow and for an instant looked so much like his son that Merlin almost flinched. Except that on the headmaster, there was curiosity with only a touch of confusion driving the expression rather than condescension and mounting anger. "What do you mean by that?"

Merlin shrugged once more before he could help himself. "Just that I sort of… I sort of just cast magic on myself and it did what I needed it to."

"Wandlessly," Seward added. "Just as he did on the strix."

"This is…" Alator, evidently listening in on the conversation as well despite being halfway along the professor's table, leaned in to peer at the collar. The strix snapped its beak close enough to cause him to swiftly jerk his head away once more before turning his attention towards Merlin. Merlin wondered if he constantly had a scowl affixed to his face or if he truly was considering accusatory thoughts. "This collar, it is a variation of _Silencio_ of some kind, is it not?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I just sort of… sort of cast my magic around it too."

"Wandlessly?"

"Yes, sir," Merlin mumbled. He had hoped to pass under the radar for at least the first few days, to keep his wandless magic as hidden as possible despite the fact that of course the teachers would know about it, because Hunith had told the headmaster about it. But evidently that wasn't going to happen. Merlin had somehow made sure of that in the most extreme and overt way possible.

The professors expressed a range of surprise, curiosity and that same colouration that Seward had worn to his features that Merlin didn't recognise. Even Alator seemed to lessen his scowl a little. After a moment of what appeared to be silent communication, as Merlin glanced between the professors one by one – meeting Gaius' and Alice's eyes briefly and easing slightly with their nods of approval – the headmaster seemed to reach a decision. Stepping towards Merlin so that, still seated on the step as Merlin was, he towered over him, Pendragon adopted what could be considered a benevolent expression. Except that 'benevolence' didn't quite sit comfortably upon his features.

"You have done this school and its students a great service this evening, Mr Emrys," he said, and his words were loud enough to echo slightly through the Great Hall. Certainly loud enough to draw the attention of the recovering students, which Merlin confirmed did indeed appear to be the case with a glance over his shoulder. "And more than that, Master Livingstone's words as to your competency with wandless magic have been more than adequately proved." His smile widened slightly, and though it wasn't quite kindly it wasn't as disastrous in its attempt at benevolence as his previous expression had been. "We shall surely have to ensure that your skillset can be appropriately tailored for in your classes."

Merlin worried at his lip for a moment before Pendragon's expectant gaze. It was only at a sidelong glance at Gaius' pointedly widening eyes that he realised a reply was required. "Thank you, sir. I, um… I appreciate it?"

"Not at all," the headmaster replied. "It is the least that can be done for a student of Hogwarts. And quite aside from that, it is rather _you_ who should be thanked." Pendragon bowed his head in something that wasn't quite a nod. "I'd sincerely like to express my gratitude, Mr Emrys. Your actions were indeed commendable. If you've anything to ask of me, I offer you the opportunity to do so and as a headmaster, I will do what is within my power to provide it. Within reason, of course."

Pendragon gave a faint smile, slightly tight and a little self-deprecating at his own words. It was that more than anything else that quelled Merlin's inclination to rear back in frustration and annoyance. A favour? Was that what he was offering? What, as payment? Did he honestly think that Merlin wanted _payment_? There wasn't anything – well, apart from…

Once more, as was so often want to happen, Merlin's tongue spoke before his mind had the chance to contribute. It was likely a combination of his dwindling adrenaline alongside his irritation at the situation at large. When he spoke, his words were bereft of any filter.

"Can you just get rid of that bloody bird, please?"


	3. Building and Burning Bridges

                                                                       

The door to the Hospital Wing swung inward on well-oiled hinges, opening without a creak of sound. Merlin stuck his head around the door, running his eyes along the length of the long, rectangular room lined with crisply made beds and tall windows beaming in the morning sunlight. It was clean, and white, and just a little bit cold, but somehow seemed to carry the essence of Gaius. Maybe it was the slight touches of personalisation of the baby-sized quilt draped over the foot of each bed, or the scattering of empty cups and vials atop each nightstand. Gaius had never been one to clean up immediately after himself, something that had always frustrated Alice to no end.

The room was empty, unsurprisingly, given that it was only the first weekend into the school term. No one had been given the chance to fall ill or injure themselves yet, or so Gaius had said when Merlin had visited him for what was apparently a rudimentary check up on the second day. Said check-up was conducted upon every study upon their return to school, a measure of height and weight and vitals, of blood composition with a simple spell and even going so far as to gauge bone density, all with a _Resolvere_ Charm. The sequence had been made only slightly less mortifyingly embarrasing by the fact that it was Gaius that had conducted it. Merlin couldn't imagine that he would have done anything but turned tail in a stumbling flight of indignant retreat had anyone else attempted the same.

Glancing to his shoulder, to the little white rat perched there and studying him with unblinking black eyes, Merlin clicked his tongue. "No one here," he muttered. Zee squeaked, the black splodge on her nose twitching as if in reply as he turned to leave.

"Through here, Merlin," Gaius' voice called from through the doors, echoing slightly off the emptiness of the room. Merlin stuck his head back into the infirmary to see Gaius similarly leaning through a distant door in the very far corner that he had somehow overlooked. Gaius disappeared a moment later after ensuring Merlin had seen him.

Closing the door behind him, Merlin trotted the length of the empty ward and slipped through the door. Inside was what was evidently an office, though of the less typical kind being filled to the brim with refrigerating cabinets, shelves groaning beneath a surplus of vials and flasks and walls hidden behind filing cabinets. Gaius had seated himself at a desk piled so high with parchments, books and scrolls that he would have been effectively concealed had he sat behind it as opposed to alongside it. Lifting a cup of tea to his lips, Gaius gestured towards the seat alongside him. "Take a seat."

Merlin did so, accepting a biscuit from the saucer that Gaius offered to him and nibbling it silently. He'd missed breakfast that morning, forsaking the morning meal for the chance to sleep in. He wasn't usually one to oversleep – his mother had even commented that he was always sprightly in the morning, up and about before with an unnecessary energy that most sane people didn't possess. Merlin personally thought she exaggerated, but had come to recognise it as being a valid suggestion after witnessing just such a display from his dorm mates every morning for the past week.

Not today, though. Today Merlin finally allowed himself to pay the debt of his lack of sleep, the sleeplessness that was a combined product of chronic nervousness, near-obsessive focus in class and general confusion. His dormitory had been empty of his peers for the first time when he eventually clambered out of bed, which was saying something because Gilli had proved to _always_ be the last one to haul himself from his blankets every other day.

Gaius was studying him intently, brows drawn down slightly in an almost-frown. "You're looking tired, Merlin. Are you getting enough sleep?"

Merlin shrugged then nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"How have you been since the incident at the opening feast?"

Merlin couldn't withhold his heavy sigh. He shook his head; truthfully, he still couldn't believe that had happened. Both that somehow the strix had managed to fly beneath the radar of a school with numerous learned witches and wizards on staff as well as the fact that it had been _he_ who was the one to actually do something about it. Not to mention that after it had happened, after Gaius had tended to those that were more strongly hit by the compulsive magic and Collins was both reprimanded for her foolishness and comforted when the bird was taken away from her, it had all been sort of swept under the rug. As though it had never happened.

No, Merlin was not feeling particularly confident in the capacity of the school after that. And the fact that nothing outstanding and disastrous had happened in the five days since was only marginally reassuring.

"I'm fine," Merlin repeated, though couldn't keep the faint strain from colouring his voice. He did, however, very pointedly affix Gaius with a stare that he hoped conveyed the majority of his opinion.

He wasn't entirely sure how successful his attempt was for Gaius seemed to be on the verge of smiling, even laughing, more than anything else. He cleared his throat, however, and deliberately brushed the topic to the side. Just like the rest of the school apparently felt was necessary to do. "Finding school difficult then, perhaps?"

Obligingly, Merlin allowed the disregard of the incident that had, realistically, had the potential to kill the entire school. Nodding once more, Merlin didn't even try to deny the truth of Gaius' speculation. It was the original reason that his uncle had suggested he come and see him on Saturday morning in the first place – before the issue with the strix, of course – with the intention to clear the air of any struggles he was facing. To correct any significant areas of ignorance before they manifested into a problem. Lucky, so far, Merlin hadn't experienced any. Or at least he didn't think he had, since the strix had been someone _else's_ problem that he felt he could modestly claim he had fixed. Sort of.

"School's… different," he said finally, reaching up to stroke Zee's head as the rat nuzzled his cheek sympathetically. "I mean, really, really different."

Gaius sipped at his tea, smiling slightly over the rim. "Did you expect anything but?"

"I suppose not."

"Well, then. Tell me. Five things. More if your think you can of them, but we'll start with just the five."

Tugging Zee down into his lap to fiddle with her fur, Merlin nodded and collected his thoughts. It was a common conversation started that Gaius begun with, one that was familiar from the days of his childhood when his uncle had assisted in his lessons of practical and theoretical magic with each visit. Those visits had declined in frequency over the years, stopping nearly completely when he'd taken the job as school nurse at the recommendation of Alice three years ago, but the formula still stuck.

Five things. Five simple things that Gaius could use to gauge how well he had learned the content he'd just relayed and, in this situation, how he was managing things. Five questions that were always the same, always used, and so familiar that Gaius didn't even need to ask them.

Gathering his thoughts Merlin began. "What I like most… I think is probably the spell-casting. Mum never stopped me from doing them but you know how she is about spells cast anywhere near her."

Gaius nodded sagely. He was one of the few people who truly understood the depths of Hunith's uneasiness around magic for he too understood the cause. He'd been the one to salvage her shattered magical core when she'd nearly destroyed it four years ago. "Yes, I can imagine you would be enjoying that. And your wandless magic?"

Here, Merlin felt himself shift uneasily. Headmaster Pendragon had stuck to the words he'd offered on the night of the welcoming feast and, though Merlin was still encouraged to first attempt spells with his wand. He was more than happy to do so, and not only because the pale yew fit so comfortably in his hand. He'd noticed that, when he managed a spell and was thence directed to attempt it wandlessly, he garnered an undue amount of attention. Granted, it was not entirely negative attention – in fact, most of his fellow students appeared to be nothing more than curious or, in the case of most of the Ravenclaws, fascinated – but Merlin was still reluctant. He didn't _want_ to stand out, so using his wand was sort of an unspoken attempt to follow convention. It was just a shame that wandless magic came so naturally to him. In many ways, it was even easier than casting with his wand itself.

Plucking at Zee's scruff, Merlin pursed his lips. "It's going… fine."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound altogether reassuring."

"No, no, it's fine. Really."

"Merlin."

There it was. That one word – or more correctly its intonation – that expressed Gaius' intentions to drag whatever reluctance Merlin might possess from within him and lay it bare. He grumbled to himself for a moment before replying. "There's nothing _wrong_ exactly. It's just that… I mean, I don't want to look like a weirdo or anything. Everyone already thinks I'm strange because I was home schooled for the last two years. I don't want to give them any more reason to think so."

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with being home schooled," Gaius sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"I know there's not." Merlin petted the back of Zee's neck at her questioning squeak. " _I_ don't have a problem with it. Honestly, I think that a lot of these stuck up, institutionalised prats could do with a couple of years under Mum's wrath."

"Merlin," Gaius said, but his tone was less demanding and more reprimanding. "Don't criticise your peers."

"I'm only telling the truth and you know it. Especially those pureblood twats, that think they sneeze gold or whatever –"

"Language, if you please," Gaius murmured with deceptive mildness.

"Sorry," Merlin replied, taking another bite of his biscuit. The crumbs fell down his jumper and scattered across Zee's head, who promptly vacuumed them up with a chitter. "I'll try to keep my _very accurate_ opinions to myself from now on."

"Yes, you do that." There was a smile in Gaius' voice, even if he didn't wear one on his face. "I'm curious, though, as to why it bothers you so much what others think. It never has before, and don't try to hide from me the reality that both you and Will grew to revel in fact that most of the other children in Ealdor thought you were a little bit odd."

"That's the understatement of the century," Merlin said, but didn't deny it. It wasn't so much that he and Will had 'revelled' in their oddity; it was more that, after realising that they would both be eternally ostracised unless they bowed completely to the whims of their cohort, they had instead chosen to embrace their imposed isolation. Life had been much easier when, instead of ducking one's head and muttering in silent agreement to whatever the bullies had suggested was true of them, they had combined their efforts to either rebuff or to flee from the situation. Merlin knew he was relatively strong magically, and Will had a decent well to draw upon himself, so their dual forces were nothing to laugh at.

Merlin was sure he would have responded the same, had as little care for the consideration of others and how they viewed him, had Will been at his side. But without him he felt like he had to tread carefully. "It's not that I really care all that much, but I just don't want to… I don't know…"

"Play the part of the ignorant small-town boy?" Gaius suggested.

"Yeah, something like that."

Nodding slowly, Gaius made an obvious and deliberate step away from the delicate subject. "But your tutelage in wandless magic is going well? You are not having difficulties with the increase in your practical magic use?"

"It was tiring for the first few days," Merlin admitted with more enthusiasm than was perhaps entirely necessary. He simply wished to jump upon the opportunity to change the subject when it was offered. "I slept like a log as soon as dinner finished, but I think it's getting easier."

"I take that as a no, then," Gaius said, smiling. "I'm impressed. But then you always did take to spell-casting like a fish to water. Most of the time I have to wonder whether you need the incantations at all. I wonder, if Hunith hadn't been so hesitant…"

Merlin bit his lip as Gaius trailed off. This was territory he didn't wish to venture into. He would never blame his mother for any inhibitions on his part, even if many would see them as present and accuse Hunith for instilling them. It wasn't her fault that she was nervous of magic these days, and any nervousness Merlin had acquired from her was entirely his own doing. Besides, she never _dis_ couraged his use of practical magic. She just never actively encouraged it, either.

Taking his turn to deliberately change the topic, Merlin cleared his throat. "Okay, second. What I dislike?"

Gaius blinked, drawn from his thoughts that had him peering into his tea. He gave a small smile that Merlin took to mean that he recognised the misdirection and would allow it. "Regale me."

Merlin chewed his lip for a moment longer. There was one very prominent thing that he could say, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted Gaius to know about it. "I guess… the structure? I don't know if it's just because I'm not familiar with it –"

"Most likely," Gaius ceded.

"- but it feels a little, I don't know, claustrophobic or something. Constricting? Or confining, maybe?"

"Exploring your vocabulary marvellously, I can see, Merlin," Gaius said with a small chuckle. Merlin fought not to roll his eyes; he'd seen Cornelius do more than enough of that in the last week to remove the need for anyone else in the entire school to do so. "But I can understand why you may feel it as such. Indeed, you've had little by way of structure before school. I can imagine it might be discomforting."

"It's not like I haven't had structure," Merlin sighed. "Mum always made me set aside three hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon for study. If anything, it's stranger having so many specific breaks. Wouldn't it make more sense to get all of it out of the way in one go?"

"Maybe to some," Gaius agreed, "but most students do better with short, intense periods of study and frequent breaks to refresh the mind. Concentration often wavers after long bouts of study."

Merlin couldn't help but roll his eyes this time. "Institutionalised twats."

"Merlin."

"Sorry."

Gaius offered Merlin another biscuit, which he accepted with a word of thanks. "Next."

"Something I'm good at is probably getting my homework done? We haven't had really all that much this week but I get the impression everyone tends to leave it sort of to the last minute."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "That's hardly a significant achievement when I would expect nothing less of you. Tell me which of your subjects you feel you are doing best at."

"Um…" Merlin pondered for a moment. It was a difficult question because he felt that many of the subjects, and how well he went at them, were dependent upon the attitudes of the teachers. Alator, as Cornelius had said, was terribly dry in his delivery of the History of Magic, not to mention a little cruel, so Merlin couldn't tell if he was simply poor at the subject or if everyone else was in the same boat. Similarly, Debois showed such prominent favouritism towards Gryffindor in Defence Against the Dark Arts that it was a bit disheartening to be in the same room as him. Others, like Iseldir, made Astronomy fascinating; Merlin had never considered stars to be of much interest before but the grey haired, softly spoken man made them seem nothing short of mystical. "I think I probably like Charms the best, even though I think… I think I might be better at Defence? Maybe?"

Gaius gave him a small smile. "You're entitled to think you excel in one area, Merlin. I did ask you a question."

"Right." Merlin nodded, scratching at Zee's head and lifting her to his shoulder as she nibbled his fingers in request. "Probably I'm going the best in Defence, then maybe Charms, or maybe Transfiguration? But I quite like Muggle Studies, so –"

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Merlin said, frowning indignantly.

Gaius tipped his head to the side in an equivalent of a shrug. "Only that Hunith said you had a taste for anthropology from your excursions into the city. Perhaps you should spend some more time with Professor Smith? I know he's always prepared to bestow additional knowledge on eager ears. Or perhaps his children? From what I hear, Guinevere and Elyan are both rather learned about the subject too."

"Yeah, maybe," Merlin said, shunting the consideration to the side. He might talk to Smith but his children… maybe not. "We'll see."

"Something you're struggling with?" Gaius prompted with his fourth question.

"Struggling with…" Again, the thought resurfaced, that which he had been on the verge of confessing as something he disliked, but once more he bit it back. "I think mostly it's just that what I know is a little bit patchy. Some things it seems like I've studied a lot more then other people while other things I've missed entirely." He shrugged. "It's not so bad, though. I'm trying to fix it by reading through my textbooks." He didn't add that his 'trying' was somewhat failing. Merlin had never been particularly bookish.

Gaius nodded, evidently unaware of Merlin's obtuseness. "Good. That's what I like to hear."

"In terms of subjects," Merlin continued, "probably History I'm having the hardest time with. Yeah, probably History. Or maybe Divination."

"Unfortunate. Some of us are simply not gifted with the divining talent."

"Or some people just think that making shapes from lumps of soggy leaves is a load of crock," Merlin suggested. It was a testament to Gaius' own opinion on the subject that he didn't reprimand him. "Not to mention the fact that Taliesin seems to be off with the fairies half of the time."

"Please refrain from criticising my colleagues in my presence," Gaius said absently. "Such critiquing is what you have housemates for."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm looking for a conversation starter, then."

"Yes, you do that," Gaius nodded. "And finally, most importantly…"

"What could I do to improve my learning?" Merlin clicked his tongue. "I think… I could ask more questions in class? Maybe speak up a little more?"

It was a show of Gaius' surprise, feigned or otherwise, that both of his eyebrows rose at that. "What, you? Need to speak up more? Is this some kind of _Confundus_ Charm I witness, that you believe you need to speak _more_?"

"Hey, I resent that, Gaius," Merlin scowled, frown deepening further as Gaius' face split with a grin. "And yes, actually, I do. I'm not that much of a blabbermouth in class. I'm very respectful to my teachers and the other students."

"I'm glad to hear it," Gaius said. "And speaking of other students…"

 _Dammit,_ Merlin cursed internally. He'd hoped to avoid the inevitable question. Truly, he should have known that it was, indeed, inevitable.

"How are you finding settling in? Have you made some friends?"

Merlin shrugged with deliberate casualness. "The boys in my dorm are nice enough. I don't have much to do with the girls, but Freya seems pretty nice when I spoke to her." _Probably because it was only to remind her of her homework over breakfast so she wouldn't get scolded by Catrina._ He chose not to add that part, though.

Gaius saw straight through him, however. He frowned slightly, setting his cup of tea onto the only tiny corner of desk vacated before him. "That's not what I asked, Merlin."

Blessedly, before Merlin had the chance to answer, there was a knock at the door. The immediate opening a second later bespoke who was intruding as much as Alice's words of "Gaius, I've finally remembered to bring those Pepper Ups and Fever Down potions for you. Quickly, will you take them from me before I drop them?"

Stepping through the doorway, the short, homely woman, grey hair raked back into a loose bun with fly-aways already springing free, paused in step. Her wand pointed over her shoulder to maintain the Levitation Charm hovering the trail of phials behind her but she hardly seemed to consider them when her eyes fell upon Merlin. It was a good thing that Gaius had already retrieved his own wand and taken the potions into his care for a broad, familiar smile stretched across her face a moment later and she practically ran across the room. Merlin found himself wrapped in his pseudo-aunt's smothering embrace a moment later.

"Merlin! I didn't know you were coming up here this morning. Gaius, why didn't you tell me he was coming?" Not pausing after she flung her reprimand, Alice drew back from Merlin slightly to beam her smile directly down upon him. It felt as warm as a summer sun. "I've wanted to speak to you all week but didn't want to disrupt you settling in! But tell me, how have you been? Are you enjoying yourself? Do you like school? How are you finding Potions; not too challenging I hope? You're doing very well, all things considered."

Merlin felt himself immediately ease from his mounting foreboding as Alice babbled. Questions upon questions she asked, yet didn't pause to give him time to reply. Within moments she had filled the room with the presence of at least four people her stature and spoke the voices of just as many. Gaius and Merlin barely got a word in, which didn't bother Merlin in the slightest. He was terribly fond of Alice, just as he was of Gaius, even if he saw her less than he did his uncle due to her teaching timetable.

More than that, however, it appeared to effectively divert the question that Gaius had been pushing to be answered.

By the time Merlin left the Hospital Wing two hours later, he was thoroughly talked out, filled with enough biscuits and tea to see him through to dinner next year, and much calmer for the experience entirely. With Zee cradled back in his hands, half asleep with her own stomach distended, Merlin made his way back towards the Slytherin dorm in silence.

It had been good to speak to Gaius. And to Alice, though fond as he was of Alice it was the brief exchange he'd shared with his uncle that had really served to clear his mind. Falling back into the familiar procedure of questions and answers, he found he was far more settled than he had been, what with the unhinging experience of a week in a foreign setting amidst countless unfamiliar faces and subject to having his head stuffed with course material that he alternatively knew exceptionally well or could barely comprehend by turns. Gaius' questions had calmed him, had given him a focus for his attention, for where he should concentrate his studies and hone his skills, just as it made him recognise that he wasn't going as badly as he may have previously considered.

That, and it forced him to confront the situation that he had very deliberately kept hidden. And that was…

Merlin didn't really have friends.

Oh, there were those he communicated with. Cornelius appeared to quite like having another pair of ears to talk at, and Edwin, while alternatively exceptionally verbose and as silent as a mute, had made a noticeable attempt to make Merlin feel both welcome and more knowledgeable of his surroundings. Gilli danced to his own tune a little bit which Merlin kind of liked, but he too tended to be more in his own head than out of it. Admittedly, he did seem to be thankful for Merlin's presence, if only to have someone else to share Cornelius's overwhelming attentions with other than Edwin who could, and very much did, divert the skinnier boy's attempts at one-sided discussions.

Even Freya Bast, the girl that Merlin had mentioned to Gaius, had been kind in her own way. She hadn't spoken to him either, really, but she spared him a smile every time she caught Merlin's eye. Merlin had reached the conclusion that she was simply shy, which was better than the other three girls in Slytherin who appeared to shun the rest of the world at large.

But none of them were Merlin's friends. Not through lack of his own desire – for he did want to make friends, he truly did – but it just didn't seem to… work.

Merlin had only ever had Will as his true friend. Before that, he was more likely to spend his time playing alone, occasionally with the younger children who took delight in the fact that he frequently – and with deliberate intention – cast accidental magic throughout his childhood. When he wasn't alone or with the younger children, he was with his mother. Until Will came along, and then the pair of them had been practically joined at the hip.

Without Will, Merlin felt as though a chunk of him had been forcibly removed. It wasn't that he had difficulty talking to others – or he didn't so long as his carelessly flapping tongue didn't suddenly choose to make a fool of him – but no one else seemed to quite fit as well as Will had. Merlin didn't consider it was a fault of anyone else, could accept that it was his own failings that caused such awkwardness, but it didn't help any. Especially when he overheard whispers from the Ravenclaws in History not two days ago commiserating that he had been sorted into Slytherin and therefore must be a 'bad egg'. As though Slytherin was, for some reason, the lesser of the four houses.

As such, Merlin spent most of his time out of classes flooding his brain with knowledge and scouting out the grounds of Hogwarts in the all but silent company of Zee. She was a good companion, and didn't reprimand him too fiercely when he lost long minutes staring skyward lost in a daydream. Merlin was attempting to fill in the gaps of his knowledge himself, the ones that had become starkly apparent in the past week, but there was only so much that textbooks could do. Especially when it came to practical lessons, not to mention the fact that, well… Merlin wasn't exactly fond of studying.

What Merlin needed was someone to bounce off. Someone to talk to and knuckle down with, humming over difficulties together. Like he'd done with Will between their morning and afternoon school sessions. The two of them moved at different paces, and had markedly different takes on each subject, and as such could usually iron out any creases of ignorance that lay between them. Zee, for all that she was supportive in her own squeaking way, was hardly an apt conversation partner.

Talking to Gaius had helped, and even being talked at by Alice had been soothing in its own way. No, Merlin didn't have difficulty with conversing with others, but it was relieving to completely drop the walls of wariness that had been a constant companion to him over the last few days. The nets that caught him before he could slip up and say something that would make him look like an idiot. It was just a shame that both his uncle and aunt had their own busy schedules; he doubted they'd be particularly inclined to have him hanging about them like a noisy ghost seeking solace and companionship.

 _I need to do something about this_ , Merlin thought, just as he had every other day for the past week. _I have to do_ some _thing._ And yet the only thought that came to mind was that he wished to write to his mother, or maybe post the letter to Will that had been burning a hole in his pocket since he'd written it half asleep the evening before. He found himself unconsciously setting his feet upon the path to the Owlery, clutching the snoozing Zee tightly to his chest as he stepped outside. It wasn't yet cold so early in September, but the mid-morning breeze was crisp as and it bit through his Muggle t-shirt and jeans with a vengeance.

When Merlin climbed his way up to the top floor of the Owlery – or the only floor, really, as those lower were simply roosts for owls seeking a little privacy – he found it not empty as he'd for some reason anticipated. In addition to the screeches and grumbling chirps of the extensive coop of owls within, a murmur of voices drifted through the empty doorway. Peering inside and barely sparing a glance for the flurry of owls flapping and perching and squawking along the spiralling walls of the domed roof, he drew his gaze to three figures chatting animatedly across the room. The vaguely familiar figure of a girl that was in Merlin's year spoke with gentle, merry words to a pair of younger girls that looked to be twins and could only be first years for their diminutive stature.

The older girl patted one of those younger on the shoulder in an almost motherly gesture. "Got it?" She asked in a liltingly unerringly cheerful tone.

"Yes!" The patted girl, a pale slip of a thing with braided hair so light it was almost white, beamed in a toothy reply. "Thanks, Gwen."

"It's really not that hard when you get the hang of it," the older girl replied. She was dressed in casual Muggle clothes, as Merlin was, and seemed entirely comfortable in them, from the loose cardigan to the knee-length shorts. Gwen Smith, Merlin realised; she was the Hufflepuff girl who he recalled seeing not only in classes but comforting the first year students at the welcoming feast. She seemed nice enough, if a little on the chatty side which was not something Merlin found particularly aversive. Besides, one had to be kind to withstand the tears that reportedly flushed through the first year's ranks for the initial weeks of school. "But no one minds helping you if you have some trouble in future. Just remember, the school owls will come down as soon as you call for them. There's no special password or charm or anything, you just need to ask them."

"Yes, Gwen," the two girls replied in unison. And, with another beaming exchange, they spun on their heel and darted from the Owlery. Merlin had to slip out of the way – the pair of them hardly seemed to notice him for the speed of their passage. He smiled at the eagerness that hung in the air behind them.

When he turned back, it was to meet Gwen's startled gaze that had fixed upon him. Merlin drew a deliberate smile across his face, hoping in conveyed friendliness rather than the brooding moodiness that had begun to descend upon him on his walk from the Hospital Wing. "Hi."

Gwen blinked her wide dark eyes. She looked a little bit like a startled deer. A moment later, however, she smiled just as widely as she had to the two first years. "You're Merlin Emrys."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, making a show of glancing over his shoulder out the door behind him before turning back to Gwen. "Who, me?"

Gwen's smile faltered for a moment before returning two-fold when she realised he was teasing her. With a bouncing step, she crossed the Owlery and planted herself directly before him. When she spoke, it was with a raised voice to be heard over an exceptionally loud shriek from a disgruntled barred owl. "Yes, you. I've actually wanted to officially introduce myself all week. Just never really got the chance to, what with being in different houses and all."

She tipped her head up to peer at him, smiling in a flash of white teeth. She really was incessantly cheerful, Merlin decided, and it was that as much as anything else that accentuated her mellow prettiness. Her dark skin was flushed in her cheeks with something that wasn't make-up, her large brown eyes alight with enduring good-humour, and the fuzzy mass of her hair seemed to resolutely object to remaining clasped in the butterfly clip at the back of her head. Merlin thought the tangled look suited her.

Before he could think of an acceptable reply, his tongue took his moment of distraction as a request to 'go ahead, say whatever'. "Why would you want that?"

Merlin would have smacked himself in the forehead if he could have done so without Gwen questioning his sanity. Thankfully, she didn't seem terribly insulted. More confused than anything for the frown that crinkled her forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Why would you want to talk to me?" _Stop talking, please stop talking,_ Merlin reprimanded himself. He didn't know why he said that; here was Gwen, attempting to be friendly, and he was simply rebuffing her attempts. At least his voice didn't sound terribly unfriendly. Or at least he hoped it didn't

Gwen's bemusement only seemed to heighten. "Why? Well, because you're new to Hogwarts and I thought you might like to talk to someone. Maybe make a new friend." She paused, and her frown fell away to be replaced by her bright smile once more. "Besides, I have an ulterior motive."

"Do you now?" Merlin said. He couldn't quite stop a mirroring smile from spreading across his own face. He'd always been a fool for smiling, and his mum had similarly always said that she loved his 'goofy grin', which had acted only as an encouragement to use it more often. Gwen's grin was infectious, though, wiping aside even the dregs of his sour mood to be replaced by her brightness. "And what would that be?"

"Well, _obviously_ ," Gwen emphasised her words as though they truly were obvious, "it's because your really, _really_ interesting."

"Oh shit, that doesn't sound good."

Gwen let out a burst of laughter that was as infectious as her smile. "Don't look so terrified! I just meant that after what happened in the Great Hall at the welcoming feast I admit I've become a little curious about you. And not just because of your magic either, or because you've got a cute accent, though I'll admit both are quite impressive." She raised an eyebrow. "But really? Wandless magic? At thirteen years old? Are we perhaps compensating for something?"

Merlin made an exaggerated shushing gesture. "Quiet, you'll blow my cover."

Gwen laughed once more. "Don't worry, your secrets safe with me. I won't breathe a word."

"Thank goodness, now I can sleep at night."

They shared a laugh this time, before Gwen got a hold of herself and continued. "No, but seriously, I have wanted to talk to you. Especially after you looked so absolutely terrified when the headmaster was speaking to you."

"Terrified? I looked terrified?" Merlin cast his mind back. True, he might have been a little uneasy, but not quite to the degree that Gwen was suggesting.

"Don't worry," Gwen reassured him, evidently standing party to his thoughts. "I won't tell anyone that, either. Besides, I think everyone was pretty distracted by what the strix cast upon us all, what with the sleepiness and everything."

"And you weren't effected by that too?" Merlin asked, curious.

"Of course I was," Gwen waved a hand, disregarding Merlin's unspoken suggestion. "Not all of us can wandlessly deafen our ears to stop the attack of a bloodthirsty beast."

"You make me sound so heroic."

"Well, maybe you are a little bit." Gwen smiled up at him, the same faintly maternal smile she'd shone upon the two first years just before. A moment later, however, she startled as though pricked by a pin. "Oh, but I'm sorry. Were you up here to post a letter? I'm distracting you."

Merlin shrugged. "It's no trouble." And really, it wasn't. Gwen was probably the easiest person he'd found to speak to in the entire week he'd been at Hogwarts. Easier that Edwin, who deliberately chose not to spoke half of the time, or Cornelius who didn't appear to care all that much what he said. It actually made Merlin a little wistful with the thought of an opportunity missed; maybe he should have asked the hat if he could get sorted into Hufflepuff? If everyone in that house was like Gwen then it certainly would have made for a much more cheerful atmosphere than he had found in Slytherin house. Not that Slytherin was _bad_ exactly but… Perhaps he should have read up on the houses a little more closely before he came to school.

Gwen had stepped aside, gesturing at him to make good her suggestion. Stepping past her, Merlin turned his eyes upwards and waited expectantly for one of the school owls to descend upon him. He'd gotten rather adept at the process in the past few days, relaying a letter to his mother or Will at every chance he got. As Gwen had said, he could ask the owls to attend to him but he preferred to wait until they were ready to offer their service. A little barn owl, one he recognised from posting letters for him on previous occasions, glided down and alighted on the windowsill before him. He strapped the letter to the leather thong coiled around its ankle and it took flight a moment later.

"I just realised I never actually introduced myself," Gwen was saying behind him. "I'm Guinevere Smith."

"I know," Merlin said, turned back around and shifting Zee into his hands once more from where she'd had to hang in a sleepy cling from his shirt momentarily to free his hands.

Gwen blinked in surprise. "You know? How?"

"We kind of share a couple of classes," Merlin pointed out, leaning back against the windowsill. "Charms, History and Muggle Studies, right?"

Gwen blinked rapidly once more. "Oh. I didn't realise you noticed me."

"I'm not _that_ unobservant," Merlin said, clicking his tongue and tapping a finger on Zee's head. "There's only, what, max twenty people in each class?"

"Something like that," Gwen admitted. Then she shrugged off her dwindling surprise. "Well, thanks then, I guess. You can call me Gwen, if you'd like, and I'll call you – is that a rat?"

Merlin didn't even glance down at Zee as Gwen shifted her attention towards his hands and the rat buried within them. "That's a bit of a mouthful."

Gwen's response was delayed for a moment before she glanced up towards him. "What?"

"You can just call me Merlin if you'd like. The rat bit is a bit excessive to say _every_ time."

Gwen stared at him blankly for a moment and Merlin considered briefly that me may have put a foot wrong. He didn't really know Gwen, and perhaps she didn't like to be teased. But then she dissolved into giggles a moment later and stepped towards him, shaking her head. "You're a bit of an idiot, Merlin."

"Yeah, I've been told."

Taking a step closer to him, Gwen bent over slightly and peered at Zee curiously. Unlike how Merlin half expected people to react, she didn't seem deterred by the blatant label of 'rat!' that seemed to distress most of the world. "It's cute. Or… it? A he or a she?"

"She," Merlin confirmed. "Her name's Zee."

"Zee?" Gwen raised an eyebrow, confused.

Merlin sighed long-sufferingly at the age-old foolishness of the name. "It's short for Zombie."

Gwen stared at him with her raised eyebrow silently for a moment before falling into a fit of giggles once more. "Zombie? What kind of a name is that?"

"It's the name that Muggles give to Inferi," Merlin began.

"I know that." Gwen waved a hand, brushing aside his explanation. "Come on, Merlin, my Dad's the professor for Muggle Studies." She tilted her head and eyed Merlin a little condescendingly. Merlin had to cede to her logic, and shrugged a little sheepishly. "What I meant," she continued, "was why did you name her that? Seem a little…"

"Idiotic?"

"I was going to say twisted," Gwen corrected with a grin.

"Yeah, that too." Merlin cast his eyes skyward. _Dammit, Will, I will always curse you for this._ "It wasn't actually my idea."

"Of course it wasn't," Gwen said with a disbelieving smile.

"No, honest. My best friend Will, when we found her as a baby we thought she was dead." Merlin glossed over the memory in his mind, hastening through the truth that he resolutely chose to ignore. "He nearly had a heart attack when it turned out she wasn't. To this day I still maintain that he wet himself."

Gwen smirked, giving another chuckle as she shook her head. She turned her attention fully upon Zee, who opened a sleepy eye upon her. She even extended a finger to pat softly at her head. "She's kind of cute."

"Course she is," Merlin said. "Some people have some really weird ideas about rats but they're actually kind of cool."

"Some people," Gwen agreed, with an amused smirk up at him.

"Well, they do."

"Oh, I believe you. I've never had a pet before so I couldn't say. Is she your Familiar?"

"No. At least I don't think so. Why? How can you tell?"

Gwen shrugged. "Just curious. Thought that might be why Pendragon let you bring her to school, but it could be for another reason. And I don't know how you can tell if she's your Familiar. You take CMC, don't you? Maybe you could ask Seward sometime."

"Yeah, maybe," Merlin replied with a shrug.

Gwen straightened. "You got anything else to do this morning? Or…" she glanced down at her wrist, to what Merlin realised was a Muggle watch for the many complicated buttons and devices upon its metal exterior. "I guess it's afternoon now."

Merlin shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"Just wondering if you wanted to head down to the Great Hall for some lunch with me?"

Merlin paused for a moment before he replied. Not because he was hesitant but because he thought he should leave a pause before responding with as much enthusiasm as he really wanted to. Because he truly did want to go to lunch with Gwen, he realised. She was just so easy to talk to. So friendly, and it actually left Merlin feeling more comfortable in her presence than disconcerted or wearied. It was a first for him at Hogwarts, and he didn't want to ruin the chance of striking up a friendship with the kindly Hufflepuff girl because he acted too strangely in his enthusiasm.

When Gwen cocked her head quizzically at his silence Merlin decided he'd waited long enough. "That sounds great. Lead the way."

If nothing else, the beaming smile Gwen gave him convinced him that he hadn't blundered.

* * *

Gwen was an incredibly affable person. In the short walk down from the Owlery to the school, Merlin regretted a full three more times that he hadn't requested to be sorted into Hufflepuff. It would have made life far easier to be surrounded by people as affectionately bubbly as Gwen. Of course, there was no guarantee that _everyone_ in Hufflepuff was like that, but it certainly seemed far more likely than such a possibility for Merlin's fellow Slytherins.

Unfortunately for Merlin, good things didn't seem to hang around for long.

They had just stepped into the Entrance Hall, and Gwen had progressed to actually holding Zee who seemed, remarkably, to be quite enjoying her gentle handhold, when their giggling conversation was interrupted.

"Gwen, what on _earth_ are you holding?"

Merlin wasn't sure whose head whipped around faster, his or Gwen's. He did know, however, that when his eyes fell upon Arthur Pendragon and his three dorm mates, descending the stairs and making for the Great Hall themselves, it was to the feeling or rapidly dissipating good humour.

Without comment, Merlin reached blindly towards Gwen, fingers grasping for Zee. To her credit, Gwen handed the rat over to him immediately, who subsequently scurried up his shirt-sleeve and hid around his neck as though she knew something was wrong.

Arthur, leading his troop down the stairs, stopped half a dozen feet from Merlin and Gwen, immediately adopting a contemptuous smirk. Merlin fought not to cringe, fighting equally hard not to spit a cutting remark at the other boy simply for the cockiness of his unmoving stance. As such, it was Arthur who broke the silence.

"I should have known. _Em_ rys has a rat." He chuckled with something that certainly wasn't amusement. "I should have known that it would be _yours_."

Merlin had to grit his teeth, as much to withhold his urge to hiss his irritation and frustration as to suppress that to comment on the strange emphasis of his speech. He only ever used it when talking to Merlin – Merlin knew because he'd overheard enough discussions in class between Arthur and his friends to realise that it wasn't just some sort of speech impediment – and it was nothing but a faintly humorous and excessively juvenile attempt at superiority.

He didn't know exactly why Arthur disliked him so much. No, dislike was too small a word; Arthur seemed on the verge of hatred of Merlin for some reason. Well, it could have been their confrontation in Hogsmeade on the day before the beginning of term, but then Merlin didn't exactly know why that meeting had been quite so explosive either. True, he'd spoken bluntly, and yes, it had been a little crude and perhaps a little insulting too, but no more than what Arthur had directed towards him. Was it?

Truth be told, Arthur's extensive hatred for Merlin bugged him. He had no inclination to be his friend – nor to develop a friendship with the three other boys, De Grace, Legaloise and Smith, that accompanied him everywhere – but he wasn't overtly fond of being disliked. He'd had enough of that back in Ealdor, and had tentatively hoped that the school in Scotland would be different. No, not tentatively. Desperately, if he was to be truthful with himself. He hadn't realised until he'd been offered the possibility of something else, to escape the loneliness and ostracism that had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember and alleviated only by Will and his mother, how much he had wanted it.

And Arthur was ruining it.

Oh, not actively, of course. He didn't deliberately sabotage Merlin's schooling, or his wellbeing, or appear to try to turn anyone else against Merlin. But whenever Merlin happened to glance his way, whether it was across the Great Hall or over his shoulder in the classroom, or even passing the blond boy in the corridor, he would always find Arthur's gaze fixed upon him with a heated, smouldering glare.

Merlin was used to being glared at. He'd spent much of his childhood ignoring such glares, such visible expressions of dislike that masked wariness. It shouldn't have troubled him as much as it did, except that Merlin had hoped for something more. Something better from school. To leave the past in the past and look to embrace the potential to develop sound friendships and a camaraderie with his fellow pupils.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Not only because Merlin had expected something better but because he couldn't avoid it. Always more likely to simply remove himself from an objectionable situation when Will wasn't beside him to offer support, Merlin found that he suddenly couldn't. Because Arthur was always there. Somewhere, on the outskirts of his awareness, but always, _always_ there.

Dropping his chin to avoid that heated gaze once more, Merlin cast a sidelong glance towards Gwen. She was frowning, perhaps in confusion but definitely with a little bit of irritation, or even perhaps anger. Merlin had just opened his mouth to speak when she spat a reply to Arthur.

"Pull your head in, Arthur. Why do you have to be so mean?"

Merlin could feel the moment that Arthur's gaze shifted from him. It felt as though he could breathe more easily again, as though the pressure of building heat had been relieved. He peered warily up at him, to witness the slight dampening of the other boy's fiery anger as he turned his attention upon Gwen. "Why? Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me," Gwen replied stubbornly.

"Come on, Gwen, don't do this," said one of the other boys behind Arthur. Gwen's brother, Merlin registered, the shortest boy of the quartet scratching awkwardly at his closely shaved head. "Don't make a fuss."

"I'm not making a fuss," Gwen said with slow, deliberately quiet words. It sounded dangerous even to Merlin's ears and he marvelled that she could make such a transformation from the kindly girl he had been talking to but moments before. "I just want to know why."

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Arthur repeated before Elyan could reply to his sister. Merlin suppressed a flinch as he jerked his head towards him. "He's a Slytherin. They're all twisted little snakes."

 _No, that's not it,_ Merlin corrected silently. Of course it wasn't it. Arthur had taken a dislike to him even before Merlin had been sorted, so it wasn't that. Arthur just… didn't like him.

Gwen uttered something that sounded almost like a growl, and Merlin was thrown abruptly into reflection upon the nature of the Hufflepuff's badger mascot. "God, you and your prejudices, Arthur. Why don't you just get over yourself?"

"It's not prejudice if it's the truth," Arthur countered, and, widening his stance in that way that Merlin had seen a week before, he folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. "There's a reason that all of the Dark witches and wizards churned out of Hogwarts happen to be in Slytherin."

Merlin really did flinch at that. The words of his mother, Hunith's reminder that he 'keep his Gift hidden' and Will's echoing persistence that 'it wasn't Dark' swum through his thoughts. They weren't as reassuring as they perhaps should have been.

Gwen was growling once more. "I can't believe you're being such an idiot," she began, lifting her chin objectionably. She folded her own arms primly across her chest, carrying off the pose with far less straining immaturity than Arthur did. "And here I was thinking you were actually turning over a new leaf, Arthur." She shook her head in such an overt display of disappointment that even Merlin felt momentarily and irrationally guilty.

Arthur evidently did to, from the cringe that flashed briefly across his face. He composed himself a moment later, however. "This has nothing to do with _that_."

"Oh, so being prejudiced towards half-bloods and Muggleborns is so different to being the same towards people from a particular house?"

"Of course it is."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"It just is, Gwen. Besides, if you actually even knew Emrys –"

"Actually, I think I have a better grasp of his character than you do. And that's only after talking to him for ten minutes."

"You're obviously wrong, then. You just can't see –"

"Don't you tell me I'm wrong, Pendragon. Don't you dare."

"Gwen, just shut up for a moment. You're being unreasonable."

"Don't tell me to 'shut up' either! Don't even _think_ about it."

The exchange continued with increasing volume, with building sharpness, and with each word Merlin felt himself cringe further. He reached a hand up to pet Zee huddled behind his neck but it wasn't as comforting as it should have been. He didn't like yelling, the memory triggering those of a long distant past when his father was still alive and had fought with his desperately berating mother about something he couldn't recall. He'd never been able to abide raised voices. Ever.

Like a protective blanket rising to wrap around him, Merlin felt his magic pool forth. It coiled around him, the chill dampening the invisible tremors that raced beneath his skin, the discomfort that arose from the shouting, from the situation at large, from _Arthur_ and his damned glare. It helped, even if just a little. Enough that he shook himself from his silence and, reaching out, touched Gwen on the shoulder to catch her attention. She stopped mid-sentence and snapped her attention towards him. Her expression immediately cleared of the scowl that had fallen onto it, an expression that looked so unnatural upon her open face.

Merlin swallowed down the tightness in his throat. "Look, I've just remembered I promised to go and see Gaius – ah, Master Livingstone for lunch. So…" He paused and shrugged awkwardly, deliberately avoiding the attention of the Gryffindor's. "Thanks for asking me anyway. Maybe another time?"

Without waiting for an answer from Gwen, he turned on his heel and took the stairs two at a time up the nearest stairwell. He didn't even know if the direction he climbed led to the Hospital Wing, but it hardly mattered. He just had to get away from Arthur, from the shouts, and he doubted he would actually end up going to see Gaius anyway, so it hardly mattered which direction he took. After all, he'd only seen him, what, half an hour ago?

"I'll see you in Charms on Monday, Merlin!" Gwen called after him.

Merlin only raised a hand to indicate he'd heard her words. He couldn't turn around. But more importantly, he didn't want to. He managed to make it around the corner and out of sight before he fell into a run. Surprisingly, for once, he managed not to trip over his own feet.

* * *

Arthur watched as Emrys disappeared around the corner of the stairwell without even the decency to glance back at Gwen in acknowledgement as she called after him. The stupidly impolite idiot. Arthur couldn't help but feel vexed whenever he was in his presence.

And the effect was only intensified when, suddenly, midway through a thoroughly humiliating telling-off by Gwen, Arthur had felt the Slytherin boy's magic rise. That strange, almost-visible sheen wafted into existence, tantalising and enchanting as much as it invoked suspicion and wariness. Arthur knew it was magic, could identify the cause of the strange triggering of his senses, just as he could identify that the source of the strange feeling that came from Emrys.

The more powerful the witch or wizard, the more in tune they tended to be with with magic. Not just their own magic but everyone else's too. Arthur knew he was magically powerful; there was no arrogance or presumption in his knowledge – it was simply a fact. All Pendragons were strong, powerful, as they had been for generations. And just as they had been strong, had honed their magical skills, so too had they developed and honed the ability to sense the magic of others around them. It was the pureblood way, to always be aware of the strength of one's opponent. The Pendragons were simply naturally better at such sensing than others.

Emrys had a magic like Arthur had never felt before. He couldn't tell if it was stronger than others – it could very well be, given the evidence of some of what Arthur had seen in their shared classes – or if it was simply that it was _different._ Because it was. It was very distinctly different, starkly outstanding when compared to other's magic. As though everybody else felt warm and rich while he was cool and strangely slick, like slightly melted ice. Or one of those Muggle refrigerator things that Elyan's father always preached the benefit of. Or –

A sharp cuff to the side of Arthur's head drew him from his contemplation. He blinked, mouth flapping open before he snapped his gaze towards Gwen standing before him, hand raised as though prepared to strike him again. "Gwen! What was that for?"

"You, Arthur Pendragon, are a right ninny," Gwen seethed, visible anger pulsing from her vanquishing any amusement that Arthur may have felt over her childish insult. An angry Gwen was a terrifying thing to behold.

Arthur scowled. "Why, because I don't trust a sneaky Slytherin quite as easily as you do?" It wasn't true, of course. Well, Arthur did tend to dislike Slytherins, but only on general principle. He knew himself that his dislike – a dislike that bordered on hatred – for Emrys came from something else entirely. From confusion, from bafflement, from irritation and… no, mostly confusion.

And indignation. Arthur still hadn't forgotten that Merlin had called him an ass the first day they'd met.

"No," Gwen snapped. "Well, yes, a little bit of that. Your prejudice is disgusting _._ But mostly because you don't give a person a chance to show you that they're a decent and friendly person before you make up your mind not to like them."

"A decent and friendly person?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "Gwen, Emrys is not –"

"He is, Arthur," Gwen cut him off, ploughing through his words like a Slicing Charm through skin. "He's a nice guy. A little bit awkward and a little bit nervous maybe, but he was nice. I was making friends with him until you came and scared him off!"

Arthur snorted and hooded his eyes contemptuously. Mostly, he had to admit, because any other response to Gwen's outrage would be too humiliating; fleeing or cowering on his knees and begging for forgiveness for his wrongs, two very persistent suggestions that reportedly arose in everyone when confronted with her disapproval, were simply not an option. "He's not a frightened little rabbit, Gwen. He's a big boy, I'm sure he can handle himself."

Gwen reached forwards and cuffed the side of Arthur's head again. Harder this time, so that it actually nearly hurt. "He might as well be a 'frightened little rabbit'. Think about how he feels, Arthur, transferring to a new school and being thrown into an unfamiliar group of people. And then there's you, who seems intent on glaring at him at every single chance you get." She affixed Arthur with her own glare. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You pick up your act, Arthur. You're behaving like a pathetically immature little child."

She didn't wait for Arthur to respond. Lifting her chin even further, Gwen spun on her heel and strode deliberately past Arthur and his friends into the Great Hall. Arthur considered that, had she been strong enough, she would have slammed the heavy doors behind her.

Slowly, Arthur lowered his folded arms from his chest. He cast a glance to his friends behind him, each looking suitably cowed as though they, not he, had been the subject of Gwen's rage. Leon, as always, looked on the verge of nervous laughter, while Percival frowned as though he truly contemplated Gwen's words and chose to reflect upon them deeply.

Elyan raised a hand and awkwardly patted Arthur on the shoulder. "You know, Arthur, I would apologise for my sister's behaviour but… I don't really have any input into what she does."

Arthur shrugged one shoulder, disregarding the not-quite-apology. "Whatever. She's in a bit of a tiff because I deprived her of a new duckling to look after."

"You can say that again," Leon murmured, and chuckled in his slightly hysterical way that bordered more on sobs of relief than amused. "Though I think it might be a bit more than just a little tiff. She really seems angry at you."

Percival nodded his agreement, his motion slow and thoughtful as with everything that he did. "How long do you think she'll be angry at you this time?"

Arthur could only shake his head. He honestly didn't know, and that saddened him. For all of her frequent bouts of reprimand, to Arthur's friends as much as Arthur himself, he enjoyed Gwen's company and companionship. She spent as much time with her brother and the rest of the Gryffindors as she did with her Hufflepuff housemates and seemed undeterred in the slightest by their difference in houses.

Maybe that was why she was so adamant that Arthur discard what she perceived as being his 'prejudice' towards Slytherin house? Arthur didn't think he was prejudiced. In fact, he made a point of _not_ being prejudiced after being faced with the reality of his misguided thoughts towards anyone but purebloods in first year. Was that really what it looked like? Did Arthur really appear to be so negatively biased towards Emrys, disliking him for such a petty reason? True, he had found himself disgruntled whenever he saw the other boy and that probably _sometimes_ showed itself in his expression, but it wasn't that obvious, was it?

Arthur didn't know for sure. And though he cared, it wasn't enough for him to dwell on overtly. Shrugging off the unpleasantness of the spontaneous fight that had certainly not gone anything like how he'd planned, Arthur turned and led the way into the Great Hall. He spared onto one more half-glance over his shoulder in the direction that Emrys had fled. Fled, as though he truly were a frightened little rabbit escaping the baying of pursing hounds.

Arthur shook his head once more. Whatever. Rabbit, snake or rat, he didn't want to dwell on the Slytherin boy. He would have been interested, maybe, in any other situation had a new student demonstrated such proficiency with wandless magic. Not to mention the strangeness Arthur felt from his magic.

But right then, Arthur didn't care. And besides, and entirely knew feeling was elicited by the wafting, warm waves radiating from the Great Hall, tickling his olfactory senses and drawing his attention elsewhere. The distraction of his growling belly was more than enough to draw his mind from mulling over the vexing presence of Merlin Emrys at his school.


	4. A Meeting With A Dragon

__

_… so annoying, I can't even tell you. But Mum insists that I have to spend some time with other kids my own age – God only knows why – and Benny's the best of a bad lot, you know? Personally, I'd prefer to just hang out with the Peeta and Gyselle but nooooo, of course Mum has a problem with that. Who cares if they're three years younger than me? They're better conversation partners than bloody Benny, you know?_

_Mum's driving me up the walls a little bit, actually. I think it's probably because I'm spending more time at home. I blame you for that actually, Merlin; since you left to go to school 'for your education', Mum seems to have gotten it in her head that the pace she's set for_ my _schooling is too slow. She's added a whole extra hour of study to my day. A whole hour! Dad's absolutely hopeless, too, because he caves under any suggestion Mum makes. I've actually started spending a bit more time at your place, because your mum always says she likes the company and you know when she's feeling a bit upset how she always bakes, like, a shit-tonne? Yeah, well, I've been stuffed to the brim with jam tarts and cream biscuits for the past two weeks._

_I blame you for that too, you know…_

"Merlin. _Merlin_."

Blinking up from Will's letter, Merlin glanced towards Gwen at his side. The Hufflepuff girl was hissing at him just loud enough to be heard, her eyes wide and meaningfully flickering to the front of the room. Merlin just managed to tuck the letter out of sight before Professor Alator descended upon him like an avenging angel.

"Do you perhaps find my class unstimulating, Emrys? That you don't need to listen?"

Merlin blinked warily up into Alator's scowling face. He was a tall, beefy man, with a patchy beard that did little to hide the frequent angry flushing of his cheeks and heavy brows that seemed permanently set into a frown. He seemed to be competing against Aredian for the Least Agreeable Professor Award, though strived for it in an entirely different approach. While Aredian was colder, chilling with his hard gaze and quite, sharp voice, Alator was more prone to shouting and huffing, to looming over desks and demanding attention from his cowering pupils.

Not for the first time, Merlin was relieved that he hadn't chosen Arithmancy as one of his electives. At least he only had to face one of what were affectionately termed the 'Demon Duo' by attending History.

Swallowing down the nervousness that always arose within him at being the centre of attention, Merlin kept his face as calm and collected as possible. "No, sir."

"Then perhaps you could enlighten your classmates as to the catalyst behind the seventeen eighty-one treaty between the goblins of northern and southern Ireland?" Alator's cheeks were, naturally, flushed, and he spoke with a sharp exclamation that was nearly a shout. If anyone in the room had somehow missed his first fuming reprimand, they were certainly aware of it now.

Merlin kept his gaze upon the desk before him, refusing to look up at the stupid, blustering man who seemed to take savage delight in terrifying his students. If there was anything to dissuade him from continuing with taking History as a subject when he had the option to do otherwise, it was Alator's teaching methods. He felt his cheeks cool and the blood rushed from them, as they always did when he felt distinctly uneasy and his magic crawled to the surface protectively.

 _Thank God Mum made me study the Goblin Treaties earlier this year_ , was all he could think as he resolutely ignored both Alator's attention and the sympathetic cringe of Gwen to his right. Merlin wasn't book smart – he knew this – and had found that hours upon hours of reading did little for his education, but this, miraculously, he remembered.

"The treaty was catalysed by a bonding union between two high ranking goblin Jarls. The families of those Jarls decided that they were willing to sacrifice the independence of their high ranking monarchical members to lessen the tendency towards political and civil warfare between the peoples."

Merlin stared at his desk in silence when he finished. That silence stretched for so long that, unintentionally, his gaze flickered up towards Alator across the room. The professor was openly scowling at him, as though he'd said something wrong, or indecent, or plainly stupid. If memory served him correctly, Merlin was fairly sure he hadn't done any of that. Though his tongue often blurted out words for him, he was always aware _afterwards_ of what he'd said.

Alator's cheeks had taken on mottled purple colour that made Merlin wonder momentarily if he was actually breathing. That wonder was alleviated moments later, however, when the History professor gave an audible grunt, turned, and began pacing back and forth across the front of the room once more. And Merlin could breathe easily again, exchanging a sidelong glance of relief with Gwen.

"The bonding union between Jarls is a long-standing and sanctified ritual that involves a number of significant elements concerning timing, seasonal temperature and the nature of witnesses…" Alator's grumbling drone begun once more.

"Good on you for answering him correctly," Gwen congratulated Merlin ten minutes later when they were let out of the classroom. "I was prepared to have to pick up the pieces after he chewed you up and spat you out."

Merlin, walking alongside her and her housemate Sefa – Sefa seemed largely aloof to his presence though hadn't objected as of yet – tugged awkwardly at the cuffs of his robes. "It was just lucky that I'd already read about it, I guess. But Alator was staring at me so hard that I could have sworn I'd given him the wrong answer."

"You didn't," Gwen reassured him, offering him a smile. "Trust me, you'd know if you said the wrong thing. But you know, I think you don't give yourself enough credit. You're actually quite smart, Merlin."

"No, I'm not. I suck at remembering stuff when I read it. In one ear and out the other."

"You don't suck," Gwen corrected, with that hint of motherly condescension that she wore so well. "I think you're probably just not very theoretically based. You're pretty good at Charms and Elyan says you're up there with the best of them with practicals in the lessons he has with you. And that's with _wandless_ magic."

Merlin opened his mouth to object, but snapped it shut at the rise of Gwen's eyebrows. The Hufflepuff girl was like that, Merlin had come to realise in the week that he'd been 'officially' friends with her. She was persistent, and as stubborn as Will could be at times though far more rational with her perspective in contrast to Will's foolishly opinionated mulishness. He found it more comforting than anything that she demonstrated such a similarity.

Far from dropping him on his arse after the explosion on Saturday, Gwen seemed to have taken it upon herself to stick to Merlin's side like glue at every opportunity. That meant that, instead of leaving him to sit alongside an alternatively hot and cold Edwin in class, she slid in beside him, usually dragging Sefa along behind her, and engaged him in chatter about what was often the most inane of subjects.

At first, Merlin had responded as he did with everyone who spoke to him. Light-heartedly, casually, little more than a superficial exchange of pleasantries that he accepted would amount to nothing and only be repeated with slight variation the next time they spoke. But Gwen persisted and pushed past that. Somehow, quite without his knowing how, she was pulling stories from him, dragging him along to study sessions in the library, and encouraging him into a teasing exchange of banter that left them both shaking with laughter more often than not.

It would seem that, quite without his deliberate intention, Merlin had found himself a friend at Hogwarts after all.

"Thanks for giving me the heads up, by the way," Merlin said, offering Gwen a grateful smile.

Gwen beamed in reply as though he'd given her the moon. "That's okay. It's happened to me more times than I can count."

"I don't believe that for a second. You're a goody two-shoes."

"I am not!" Gwen exclaimed indignantly, though her smile still remained affixed. "I'll have you know that I got a detention last year actually."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Really."

"And why was that? Caught out after dark because you were rescuing some lost first years or something."

Gwen shouldered into him affectionately. "I'm not _that_ altruistic," she said, but Merlin noticed she didn't deny his guess. "What were you reading, anyway?"

Merlin's had drifted unconsciously towards his pocket. "Just a letter from home."

"From your mum? Or from Will?"

"From Will," Merlin said. Gwen had somehow along the way become familiar with more aspects of Merlin's town and home life, his childhood and his friend, than he would have ever thought himself ready to share with anyone else. He could hardly find it within himself to feel resentful of her prying, however, not when she offered an equal insight into her own life. He'd learned more about Gwen than he had of all of his housemates combined; that she and Elyan were both in third year despite him being nearly a year older than her, that her father was single, never married, and seemed quite happy for it, and that they lived in the middle of Muggle London and revelled in the intimacy it provided with non-magical folk. Little bits and pieces that built the picture of Gwen herself and only made him grow fonder of her. It had quickly surpassed simple gratification for her inclusion of him; he truly enjoyed her company.

"What's he got to say?" Gwen asked.

"Oh, same as usual. Cursing me for leaving home, complaining about his studies, trying to make me jealous with my mum's cooking. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Gwen gave a gentle smile as they turned a corner. Sefa trailed after them, apparently barely even hearing their exchange. Merlin had attempted to talk to her, but she seemed resistant to any attempts at friendliness. Gwen had told him not to worry about it, that Sefa rarely spoke to anyone except her, but he still felt a flicker of guilt whenever she sat in silent detachedness beside them. He wondered if she resented the attention Gwen seemed all too keen to shower upon him.

"I think he probably just misses you," Gwen said softly.

"I think he probably exaggerates just how much," Merlin muttered in reply.

"Maybe. But that's not what it sounds like. It sounds like –"

"Gwen! Gwen, I need your help! Gwen, can you help me?"

Pausing in step beside Gwen, Merlin glanced over his shoulder as she turned and offered a faintly worried frown to a second year girl nearly tripping over her robes to hasten towards her. "What's wrong, Mathilda?"

Matilda, cheeks flushed and huffing slightly as though she'd been running, slid to a stop before Gwen. "Polly's upset again because she thinks Catrina is mad at her for answering the question she asked her wrong, and even though I told her that she wasn't she won't listen and she thinks –"

"Calm down, Mathilda, calm down." Gwen raised a hand and waved it at the second year girl soothingly until she stuttered to a halt. "Where's Polly now?"

"She went to the third floor bathrooms and locked herself in a stall and won't talk to anyone even when we knock and –"

"Alright, I'll come and see what I can do." Turning towards Merlin, Gwen gave him a faintly exasperated, faintly apologetic smile. "Sorry about this. I'll catch you later?"

Merlin brushed aside her words with a wave of his hand that he deliberately mimicked from Gwen. He could hardly accept such an apology, not when it was from Gwen and not when it was for the sole reason that she was flying to the aid of someone else. A first year from what he could tell from Mathilda's babble. Merlin didn't quite know how Gwen had come to be the go-to person for distressed youngsters in her house instead of one of the numerous prefects or teachers but he knew why.

Gwen was just too good of a person to say no. She would never walk past someone in need. Merlin often suspected that was the driving force behind what had led to their friendship.

"No worries. You've got DADA next, haven't you? I'll see you at dinner maybe."

"Yeah, see you," Gwen said once more as she made her way after Mathilda at a brisk stride. Sefa, naturally, turned and followed right behind her. Merlin was surprised to notice that the quiet girl cast him a long-suffering glance over her shoulder as she disappeared back around the corner, however, as though to say "can you believe this? Again?" Merlin found himself smiling as he turned towards his Potions class.

The dungeons had become something of familiar territory for Merlin over the past two weeks. At first, Merlin hadn't been too fond of the stonewalls, of the gloominess illuminated only by torches on the walls, of the claustrophobic sensation inflicted by low ceilings and a distinct lack of windows. He'd always been fonder of the open air, of the sunlight and a cool breeze, the rich smell of soil and grass to the backdrop of chirping birds and chittering squirrels.

He'd started to grow used to it, though, even if he doubted he'd ever be particularly inclined to seek the solace of the underground darkness. And though his very magic seemed to protest as to the restriction of the enclosed walls, he was learning to overlook it. To ignore it or to soothe its disgruntlement by taking a brief trip outside when the claustrophobia grew too profound.

At least Alice took his Potions classes. Kindly and welcoming as she was, her attitude helped to soothe the feeling of disgruntlement acquired from being deeply embedded floors under the school. Had it been Alator or Aredian who took the class, Merlin thought that he would seriously consider skipping Potions entirely. It was bad enough that the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons; he didn't need to be tortured there too.

He wasn't the first one in the Potions class, though he was the first Slytherin boy. The girls were all huddled in their usual seat, crowded around the back right hand corner bench and whispering amongst themselves. All of them except Freya, that was, who gave him her usual customary smile upon his entry before turning back to watch with half-attentiveness as Lamia Mendez muttered to the other two girls next to her. Lamia hardly seemed to notice Freya was there.

At the front of the room sat the majority of the Gryffindor third years. Merlin noticed two of the girls whose first names he wasn't quite sure of though he recognised them by face – one could hardly miss the pointed nose of the blonde girl for all that it waved proudly in the air, while her companion had a habit of fiddling with her brown tresses and leaving every class untangling them from the multitude of braids she'd wound them into.

Across from them, the Gryffindor boys slouched in varying degrees of slovenliness. Gwen's brother, Elyan, looked like he was actually reading through his textbook, while the big burly boy, Legaloise, sat at his side with his own book flipped open before him, though he instead frowned thoughtfully at the distant wall. Arthur and De Grace, the curly-haired boy who seemed to be something of Arthur's right hand man, leaned against one another as they spoke idly about something that sounded like it had to do with quidditch.

Merlin wouldn't be surprised. All four of the third year boys had somehow managed to get a place on the Gryffindor quidditch team and all basically lived and breathed the sport.

At Merlin's entry, as they were want to do, Arthur's eyes drew directly towards him. Quite aside from flooded with the aggression they'd carried for the first week of school, however, he didn't glare but simply… stared. Stared as though Merlin was a mildly frustrating puzzle that he was attempting to unravel, a puzzle that was apparently eluding him. Merlin wasn't entirely sure as of yet whether he preferred being glared at or the subject of such intense study. It unnerved him that Arthur apparently changed his attitude so abruptly. Or at least he appeared to; for all that he didn't glare at him, the headmaster's son was still prone to dropping muttered comments when Merlin answered a question and rolling his eyes away from him when he realised Merlin had noticed his attentiveness. Merlin wondered if Gwen had said something to at least stop the glaring. He wouldn't put it past her, what with the verbally defensive response she'd demonstrated the weekend before.

Settling himself into his seat, Merlin set about pulling his books and potion-making equipment from his bag, flipping to the page in his textbook that they had left off on in the previous lesson. The bell had just rung by the time Gilli and Cornelius – Edwin having slipped in minutes before – hastened into the room. Cornelius immediately slowed to a stroll as though trying to convince everyone that he hadn't been running, while Gilli panted slightly and wiped a hand across his head. He looked a little pale, almost unwell if Merlin was to be honest, though from his near-lateness or otherwise he wasn't sure.

Alice swept into the room from her adjacent office moments later, wand aloft and flicking towards the chalkboard. The stick of chalk immediately began scrawling upon in a cursive hand Merlin recognised as being of his aunts. "Right, we'll be continuing with our Shrinking Solution today, starting with some brewing. First potion of the year, boys and girls. Look lively; this is exciting!"

Alice's wide smile swept around the room, only widening further at the snickers, the snorts and the rolled eyes as the students before her offered their varying degrees of exasperation and ridicule for her enthusiasm. Merlin met her smile with one of his own. He personally enjoyed her bubbly mood, even more so given that he felt almost as enthusiastic to be brewing, and was rewarded with the brief flutter of a wink.

"Get to chopping then, everyone. Instructions are on the board as well as in your books. I'd like you to read both versions if you would; the one used in the textbook is a little archaic with some of its terms and references so you should compare those you don't recognise with the more familiar ones I've given you." Alice pointed her wand towards the storeroom and the door swung open. "Working in pairs, one of you will get the ingredients and the other can start with setting up." She paused, hands dropping to her hips and skimming her gaze around the room expectantly. "Well? What are you waiting for? On with you."

The scrape of chairs scattered around the room. Edwin rose to his feet beside Merlin, offering him a nod and heading towards the store cupboard. Evidently he was in one of his non-speaking moods that day. Merlin didn't really mind. He set about pulling stirring rods, mortar and pestle and his collection of vials from his bag instead, turning his gaze to the blackboard and Alice's neat handwriting.

Merlin quite enjoyed brewing, something that had horrified Cornelius when he'd admitted it to him on his first Potions lesson. He enjoyed the way that he could combine ingredients into a greater whole, how it applied knowledge and precision yet similarly required him to get his hands dirty and become actively engaged in the process. Gwen was right on one count, at least; Merlin didn't think he was particularly smart, but he knew for sure that he wasn't as good at learning through theory. A practical approach always seemed to stick better in his mind, and, as with spells, when he'd managed to brew a potion successfully once he could do so again with relative ease. Sometimes even just off the top of his head.

In the past, throughout his education under his mother, he had been somewhat restricted in what he could brew. As with the casting of spells, Hunith was wary of anything that could prove even remotely dangerous in magical studies. Anything volatile, that involved a step where a simple slip up, a rearrangement of added ingredients or a slight excess in measurements, that could prove explosive or disastrous, and Hunith steered far clear from it. Merlin had restricted his brewing to when Alice visited on occasion; he had considered it beneficial on a number of counts in that it meant his mother was given the reassurance of a master Potioneer teaching him what he needed to learn while not having to become directly involved in it himself, while Alice got to share the knowledge she loved.

Merlin worked quickly and efficiently through the brewing process. He juiced the shrivelfigs and chopped daisy roots, leaving most of the stirring to Edwin who seemed content to simply sit and gaze listlessly into space, shifting only with Merlin's prompting that he stir a little faster, or change the direction of that stirring. Time flew in the class, even more than it usually did, and Merlin lost himself to the simple concentration of brewing.

He was interrupted, however, when Edwin pulled himself from his thoughts and nudged him under the table with his foot. "Hey, is it just me or does Gilli look like he's going to puke."

Glancing up from where he was juicing the leeches, Merlin peered across their table towards Gilli. The quiet boy was leaning heavily upon the bench and he did indeed look unwell. Merlin had to agree that Edwin's diagnosis was rather accurate – he'd long since been aware of basic medical assessments and scanning for signs and symptoms of disease from his mother's work. He knew what stomach sickness, or more likely food poisoning, looked like and Gilli did appear to be on the verge of vomiting from the faint trembles and the sweatiness of his brow. More than that, from the heaviness of his eyes, the paleness of his skin and the faintly apparent venation at his temples at neck, Merlin wouldn't have been surprised had he passed out.

Frowning, he lowered the leeches to the table and leant towards the other boy. "Gilli, are you alright? Maybe you should sit down?"

Gilli blinked up at Merlin hazily, offered a poor attempt at a grateful smile and shook his head. "I'm not… I'm not feeling very well."

Cornelius, who as usual seemed to be doing the absolute minimum of work, suddenly found cause for attentiveness. Starting up from his slouch on the stool, from where he'd been mulling over the very first step of the brewing process while Merlin and Edwin had already completed the seventh, he leaned with exaggerated concern towards Gilli. "Yeah, you don't look very well at all. Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm f… I'm fine…" Gilli mumbled, but Cornelius ignored him completely.

Standing up and raising his hand in a wave, Cornelius called for Alice's attention. "Professor Livingstone! Gilli's sick and I think he needs to go to the Hospital Wing."

Alice, currently preoccupied at the Gryffindor girls' table, turned with a questioning frown and started towards them. Her frown became more pronounced and visibly concerned the nearer she came. "Goodness, McCarvick, you certainly do look unwell. What's wrong with you, boy?"

"Not… feeling… well," Gilli managed, raising a hand to cover his lips. They'd turned a faint shade of blue.

"I tend to agree with you," Alice said, nodding with an expression of faint concern. "Take yourself up the see Master Livingstone, I think. Do you need someone to come with you?"

"I'll take him, Professor," Cornelius offered, his voice still laced with exaggerated concern as he already started for the door. Gilli, all but abandoned in his wake, shuffled slowly to follow after him.

"Thank you, Sigan," Alice said as they disappeared from the classroom. Merlin didn't think she was any more fooled than he as to the nature of Cornelius's sudden concern for his fellow student; he'd take any chance to escape from doing work.

"I hope he's okay," Merlin muttered, more to himself that to Edwin. Edwin only grunted in reply.

The rest of the lesson passed relatively uneventfully, if one didn't count the shrieks from the Slytherin girls' tables when Eira Vanning flung a handful at leeches at Lamia. Alice ignored them but for a disapproving frown in their direction, which was always her approach to everything foolish, and they subsided sheepishly. Merlin barely spared them a glance but to notice that Freya was shaking her head resignedly as she stirred her own cauldron.

A full ten minutes before the end of class and Merlin was ladling a phial-full of the Shrinking Solution into a testing glass and making his way up to the front of the room. As he passed the Gryffindor boys' tables, he overheard Arthur muttering to De Grace with a tone of disgust. "It looks like it's been fermenting for years. Look at it! It's basically liquefied."

Merlin spared a glance towards as he passed to see De Grace holding the jar of diced rat's spleen aloft and peering at it with an expression as disgusted as Arthur's tone. "Do you think it would kill you if you ate it?"

Arthur snickered. "Dare you to try."

"You try it."

"I dared you first."

" _I'm_ not going to eat it. I value my health, thank you."

"Pansy," Arthur snickered once more as De Grace uncorked the lid of the jar and raised it above the cauldron to pour it in.

Merlin shook his head at their words as he passed. _Seriously, what idiots. Firstly, it's just a spleen. The Preservation Potion it's sitting in would probably do more damage than –_

Seeing disaster out of the corner of his eye, Merlin lunged. He nearly knocked over Arthur's and De Grace's cauldron as he snatched the jar of spleen from the curly-haired boy's hands. The pair of them started from his abrupt intrusion, De Grace even letting out a yelp of surprise as Merlin snatched the jar from Preservation Potion sloshed over his fingers onto the desk with a chilling sting that Merlin hardly noticed. With a sigh of relief – they'd dodged a hex with that one – he pushed himself from the desk a moment later, hands clutching in one his own phial of Shrinking Solution and in the other the rat spleen.

Arthur started to his feet, cheeks already flushed with his rising anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Merlin held up his hands in an admittedly impeded attempt to profess his innocence. "I –"

" _Merlin,_ Emrys, do you make it your life's work to make my own as frustrated as possible?"

"No, I –"

"Because if you are, you're doing a fantastic job of it."

"I didn't mean to –"

"What's going on over here?"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder and cringed slightly as he noticed that not only was Alice heading across the room towards them but the entirety of the class was attending to them as well, paused in whatever acts they were doing to watch the display.

Biting his lip and fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders, Merlin lowered both jar and phial to the splashed table. "Sorry, Professor, I was just… I thought that there might have been an accident if they… I mean, if I didn't…" _How best to phrase this without making Arthur and De Grace both look like idiots? Is that even possible?_

Alice paused at his side, eyes flickering over his shoulder to glance at the arrangement of ingredients and utensils scattered on the Gryffindor's working desk. Her expression was not scolding but only mildly reprimanding when she turned once more towards Merlin. "Go on? Something to do with the rat's spleen?"

Gnawing his lip almost savagely enough to tear skin, Merlin glanced back towards De Grace. Not to Arthur, as he didn't think he would be able to speak with civility if he beheld what was surely a hateful glare. "You've got to shake it before adding it to the potion," Merlin said, keeping his voice carefully formal. "It wouldn't matter so much in most situations except that I just noticed you still had your cauldron heating. If you'd just added it, it would probably have exploded in your face."

De Grace blinked at him in blank-faced shock for a moment, before he hastily took a step away from his desk, casting an uneasy glance towards the cauldron. "Seriously?"

"Pretty sure."

"You are entirely correct, Emrys," Alice said from his side, a note of carefully muted approval in her tone. "Five points to Slytherin for avoiding a disaster of unnecessary proportion." She touched him briefly, unobtrusively, on the arm before turning her attention towards the room at large. "Can anybody tell me why such an effect would have occurred with the combination of heat and unshaken diced spleen?"

The class was silent, watching with wide-eyed attentiveness. Merlin had to wonder at that; everyone seemed so much more focused when the potential for something going wrong arose. Alice scanned their upturned faces before turning back towards the Gryffindors. "De Grace? Pendragon? Any suggestions?"

Merlin didn't mean to, but his gaze drew towards Arthur's. He didn't know what he'd been expecting – perhaps a savage glare, resentment twisting the Gryffindor boy's face into a snarl – but it certainly wasn't what he saw. Far from even guilt for his stupidity, he seemed enraptured by Alice's words, blinking as attentively as his fellow pupils as though he was genuinely curious as to the answer to the question given. At least, he was until he noticed Merlin staring at him, upon which the expected glare arose once more. For the first time in a week, granted, but Merlin had become more than familiar enough with it in that first week of term for him to recognise it in a second.

 _He's resentful to_ me? _Stupid prat, I just stopped his friend from exploding his face off and he's glaring at me? Yes, very mature, Mr Pendragon-twat, very mature._

"No one?" Alice continued. Then she glanced towards Merlin. "Emrys?"

Merlin fiddled for a moment with his Shrinking Solution phial. He did know this. He _did_ , if he could just remember what it was exactly. He flicked through his brain, filing through the crowded contents of textbook understanding. "Is it because… because if you don't shake it then the crushed spleen becomes unevenly concentrated? And with the increased temperature, that makes… that makes it react faster, so everything would all just, um… explode?"

Alice's lips quivered on the verge of amusement by the time he finished. "Are you asking me or telling me, Emrys?"

"That depends on whether I'm right or not," Merlin replied before he could stop himself.

Thankfully, Alice only smiled indulgently. "Correct." She nodded her head approvingly. "Another five points to Slytherin. Have a little more confidence in yourself, Emrys."

"Yes, professor."

"Is that your finished phial?" She asked, gesturing towards the glass bottle in Merlin's hands. He nodded and handed it over to her when she held out a hand for it. "Good work. Now go and help Muirden clean up your table."

Merlin nodded once more and turned to head back to his desk. Only to have himself nearly tugged from his feet as De Grace suddenly grabbed at his arm. He steadied himself and glanced over his shoulder towards the other boy, meeting wide, guileless eyes.

"Sorry," De Grace said, releasing his hold of him and grinning sheepishly. "I just, ah, I just wanted to say thanks for that. I mean, I probably should have been watching what I was doing a little bit closer."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, or reading the instructions," he said before he could help himself. He immediately repented for his offhanded reprimand and offered a grin to soften the blow. "No problem."

De Grace gave a tentative smile back before nodding and turning back towards his cauldron. After shifting the cauldron off the heat, he very deliberately picked up the jar of rat spleen, capped the lid on top, and shook it vigorously.

Merlin couldn't help the widening of his smile as he turned and headed back towards his own table. He was halfway through packing away when he realised the slight weight he'd subconsciously felt resting upon him were someone else's attention. He glanced up to meet Arthur's eyes, staring at him intently from across the room.

Naturally, as soon as he noticed him watching him, Arthur adopted a scowl, narrowed his eyes in a glare, and turned back towards his own table. But just for a moment, just before that, Merlin was sure he'd almost, _almost_ been something approaching neutral. Not kind, or grateful as De Grace had been, but it was a sure sight better than how he'd been only a week before.

* * *

_Merlin… Merlin…_

Blinking his eyes open, Merlin stared up at the dark roof framed by the curtained four posters of his bed. It was dark in the dormitories, even darker for his curtains, and utterly silent. Or at least it was silent in the _room_.

"What do you want?" Merlin whispered aloud. It sounded more like a hiss than a curious query, even to his own ears. Probably because he was _bloody tired_ of waking up three nights in a row to some stupid dream voice that decided it was suddenly mute the moment that he was conscious.

Merlin was not a Dreamer. He had dreams, yes, but he was realistic enough to know that they were _only_ dreams. He had no hidden seer talents in him, he knew, no capacity to see prophecies. People started to develop those abilities before their teenage years at the very latest. Truthfully, Merlin didn't even know why he'd taken Divination in the first place. Curiosity, probably, and the fact that Hunith had only ever mentioned it in passing with a comment on how rare an ability it was to be actually prophetic.

This dream, this voice, was not prophetic. If Merlin was to hazard a guess, he would think it was a fellow student pulling a prank on him. He'd remained resolutely silent in the hopes that the prankster would simply stop. They hadn't.

_Is it funny to tease the new kid? Or is this some sort of rite of passage or something? A test maybe, to see how long I'll endure being woken up in the middle of the night before I crack and spit fire._

A grumbling chuckle answered his thoughts. _Spit fire. Such an interesting turn-a-phrase._

With a jolt, Merlin sat up in his bed. Blinking into the darkness he peered around him. Was that… did someone… was someone in the room? No, it had definitely been the same voice as that which incessantly called his name. It was the first time it had said more than his name.

"Hello?" He whispered into the darkness. "Can you hear me?" Silence, that seemed glaringly loud in its absence of reply. "Why are you talking to me? What do you want?"

Another grumbling chuckle sounded. _Come and find you and maybe I will tell you…_

And then it fell silent once more. Merlin was left sitting upright in bed, staring into the darkness, with the very distinct impression that the voice was indeed gone for the rest of the night. A relief, Merlin told himself, as it meant that he would be able to find undisturbed sleep within the privacy of his own mind once more. That was what he thought, even as he swept the blankets aside, swung his legs over the edge of his bed and into a waiting pair of slippers and slipped through the curtains of his four-poster bed.

The dormitory was silent, with Edwin and Cornelius's beds similarly curtained as his own. Gilli was still in the Hospital Wing after several days of ensuing sickness, and after his recent visit to Gaius on the weekend Merlin had been concerned to note that he looked no better than he had in the last Potions class he'd seen him in. It didn't look much like the effects of food poisoning anymore, especially given that Gilli had apparently done little but sleep and sweat and moan in his borrowed bed for three days straight.

More concerning than that was that a number of other students had apparently fallen prey to whatever sickness had taken Gilli. Eira from Merlin's house cohort, as well as several others in his house, were similarly absented. Gaius was studying the effects but was baffled as to the cause. And frustrated besides; Merlin knew that Gaius _hated_ feeling helpless in the face of the sick and the ailing.

Stepping past Gilli's bed, Merlin made through the near-impregnable darkness towards the door and beyond. He passed through the empty common room, the low-burning fire casting a yellow glow upon green and silver furnishing, reflecting off the black of the leather couches and emphasising the absence of students as they had all sought their beds. The snake-hands on the clock above the doorway ticked just past two o'clock and Merlin scowled. _I should be in bed and_ sleeping. _Class is tomorrow; no one in their right mind wanders through the castle after dark. And besides, I'm pretty sure that's forbidden._

And yet, even with that thought, he edged through the doorway with only a single backwards glance.

Merlin didn't know where he headed. At least, he didn't consciously know; perhaps whoever the voice had belonged to was leading him, for his feet set themselves on a path of their own making and as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit corridor outside of the dormitory they set off at a quick step down the left hand passage. Merlin had only a brief moment of concern – what if the voice and hence his director was malicious? – before brushing it aside. If nothing else, he felt himself entitled to tell whomever it belonged to shut up and let him sleep.

Long minutes of walking led Merlin to a section of the school he hadn't explored before. Still in the dungeons and perhaps even deeper than the common room, it seemed even darker than the more travelled corridors despite the same number of torches lining the walls. A distant dripping, like a leaking tap, pattered from an unseeable source and echoed down the corridor. It gave an altogether ominous ambiance.

Finally, Merlin reached the end of his route. The end because there was quite literally nowhere else to go. A literal dead end confronted him in the shape of a stone wall. The cracks and crevices of mortar meeting brick were emphasised by the dancing lights behind him.

Staring at the wall, Merlin sighed heavily before turning his eyes skyward. "Great. Fantastic. I'm so happy that I made the effort to wander through the castle at night to see a _wall_." He shook his head. "It couldn't even be a picture or something?"

A jarring crack and crumble started him in place the second Merlin stopped speaking. Stumbling backwards several steps, Merlin blinked as, in a puff of dust, the stone wall split and shifted and in place of its unbroken solidity a plain black door sprung into existence. He stared at it warily for a moment as it seemed to stare back at him just as expectantly before, with a _snick_ and a creak of hinges, it swung inward into a dark, cavernous blackness.

"No, that's not creepy in the slightest," Merlin muttered to himself, suddenly wishing he'd brought Zee with him if only for the comfort of her presence. Ignoring every instinct within him urging him to turn tail and hasten with as much speed as his eternally tripping limbs would allow, he edged forwards, heart thumping loudly in his ears, and peered into the room.

It wasn't quite as dark inside as it had appeared from the hallway. Or maybe the candle in the very centre of the spacious room had simply been lit in the moment that Merlin glimpsed inside. He could make out smooth furniture that could have been beds as easily as it could have been a ring of divans circling in the centre of the room. Something that was most definitely a bookshelf lined one wall, though it was filled with glass ornaments and metallic devices as much as books. A desk of dark, pockmarked wood was angled awkwardly from one corner, half filled with scrolls and parchments, sad-looking quills and overturned inkwells that were, thankfully stoppered. It appeared, if nothing else, an abandoned study, surprisingly free of dust though the air hung thickly with musty staleness.

At least, Merlin thought it was abandoned until the voice spoke. "There, was that so hard? You found your way well enough."

Whipping his head towards the source of the voice, Merlin squinted into a deceptively shadowed corner of the room. It must have been magically shrouded, for the feeble light of the candle didn't breech the darkness as it did the rest of the room.

Heart skipping a beat but grasping onto the courage that had dragged him to some unknown source – and still more than a little disgruntlement over his disturbed sleep – Merlin deliberately leaned against the doorframe. "Who are you? What do you want?" Then, because he realised at the same time he spoke that the grumbling growl was the same that had awoken him, "and why do you keep waking me up?"

The deep, gravelly chuckle rung through the room, echoing as it shouldn't outside of a vast, cavernous space. "I apologise. Did I interrupt your sleep?"

Merlin glared. The nervousness that had set his heart to pounding in a deafening drumbeat was lessening slightly to give way to his disgruntlement more completely. Not that he didn't hold his magic at the ready, however; he'd be a fool not to be prepared for the unexpected, especially when strange, hidden sleep-attackers drew him from his bed at night. The memory of the strix incident and his scepticism as to the true depth of consideration of the headmaster for Hogwarts' students was too fresh in his mind. "You know you did."

Another chuckle. "Yes, I suppose you're right." The voice hummed, considering, as though it – or he, for it definitely sounded male – hadn't contemplated the reality of his own actions.

Merlin waited for him to continue but, when he only proceeded to hum thoughtfully, he frowned and spoke. "Well? What do you want? I have class tomorrow morning – this morning actually; in, like, six hours – and I'd like to try and get a little more sleep." He paused, then, because it seemed like the right thing to say and he wasn't completely heartless, "do you need help with something? Is that it?"

"Ah, Merlin, how you haven't changed. Always moving at hundreds of miles a minute and so keen to speed faster. And yet despite your haste you are always ready to offer a helping hand."

Merlin shifted uneasily, taking half a step back through the doorway. That reminded him… "What are you talking about? And how do you know my name?"

"I know much about you, young warlock. You are not the same person you once were, but the changing of times doesn't serve to erase every aspect of your being."

"You know, no one uses the term 'warlock' these days," Merlin said before he could help himself, before he could fully consider the faceless man's words. "It's wizard. Or witch, though that's usually to replace priestess or whatever."

Another chuckle. "Indeed, indeed. I stand corrected. But regardless, it is of little concern. You asked what it is that I want?" The voice hummed once more, and Merlin could swear that he saw the shadows shift slightly in movement. "Think instead of how I could help you with what you need."

Merlin blinked. "What? What I need? I don't need anything."

"You need a teacher –"

"I have teachers. Heaps of teachers."

" – but you just don't realise it yet as your powers have not truly manifested."

Merlin felt himself freeze, felt his tongue dry immediately and his heart stutter to a momentary pause. Powers… surely he didn't mean… "I don't know what you're talking about. The professors are helping me with my studies, and I don't think I need –"

"I was not speaking of your collective studies of magic, Merlin," the voice interrupted him, and through Merlin's unease he though it sounded faintly condescending. "I refer to your more unique Gifts."

Swallowing, Merlin fought the urge to retreat from the room further if only for the disconcerting feeling that, if he didn't dissuade the owner of the voice from his speculations before he left, than he would surely _know._ For _sure._ And Merlin's mother had enforced, time and time again, that _no one must know._ "I, um, appreciate your… offer? But it's really fine. The professors have been really, ah… really good with helping me to use my wandless magic. I thought it was unusual too, since I was really the only person who used wandless magic back in Ealdor, but it turns out it's not _that_ unique. I mean, people use it all the time, though I suppose you have to have a certain level of strength or whatever to do so, but –"

"That is not the Gift to which I refer, Merlin." The voice interrupted what Merlin realised had been his babbling with a firm slice. "I speak of your other Gift. Your true Gift. I am certain that I am not the only one to sense it but I am likely the only one who truly knows of its nature."

A cold rush swept through Merlin once more. An even more intense chill than before. He knew without having to behold his own reflection that his cheeks had gone deathly pale, that his skin had dropped several degrees in temperature and his breath was likely on the verge to puffing in foggy clouds. His magic slithered and whipped in his core, extending tentative and nervously twitching fingers in an attempt to soothe the terror that flooded through him. 'The freezes', his mother called it, and it was another thing – apparently – that was fairly unique to Merlin. His magic responded to his fear, to his near panic, in a completely useless way that made him appear nothing if not a dying boy creeping towards hypothermia. It was an utterly useless occurrence, benefiting Merlin only in informing him of just how terrified he was.

Taking a shaking breath – and yes, he saw his exhalation was slightly visible in a cold, white cloud – Merlin fought for composure that he didn't think would fool anyone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I think you do," said the voice, and it was more persistent this time. More demanding. "I think you do indeed. For I would hardly be able to sense it had you not used it at least once."

Merlin shook his head firmly, hoping it didn't look as frantic as he felt. His fingers were curled into fists from the coldness that his body radiated. "I don't have any real Gifts. I don't use Dark or Black magic –"

"There is a difference between Dark and Black magic," the voice interrupted, and it sounded nothing if not exasperated. "Black magic thrives upon the negative, upon inducing pain and compelling. Upon destroying and overpowering. Dark magic is simply that which we have not yet fully understood."

"I think you might be getting your definitions mixed up a bit," Merlin muttered, because he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. He wished abruptly that he hadn't let his curiosity get the better of him and had stayed in his bed.

A hum that Merlin pictured as accompanying the shaking of his head sounded in reply. "Not at all. It is witches and wizards of today that have confused the definitions. I would know, after all, given who I am."

The phrase was such a deliberately dangled carrot that Merlin almost rolled his eyes and ignored it entirely. But, as so often happened, he found himself speaking before he could quite help himself. "And who would that be, exactly?"

"Exactly?" The voice chuckled in amusement. "I can't profess _exactly_ who I am. But I can tell you what I have been and that is the once sitting professor of the Dark Arts of Hogwarts." The voice paused and gave a very definite harrumph. "The foolishness of the ministry years gone by forbade the teaching of such arts under the same ignorance that you have just demonstrated. Since, I have been made somewhat… redundant."

Merlin shifted in place, feeling himself slowly, gradually, begin to unfreeze. He was no less wary, but the sudden shock that had gripped him, that had reared his magic in a blizzard of defence that chilled him to the bones, was slowly fading. Only to be replaced by a deterrence from the hidden owner of the voice instead. A Dark Arts professor? "I don't- I don't think that you could help me –"

"I think I could."

"- and though I appreciate the offer, it's pointless." Merlin shook his head stubbornly. "I don't have any Dark magic Gifts that I need help learning."

That at least was true. Even if he did possess a Gift of Dark magic, there was no way that Merlin would be prepared to hone that Gift. Despite Will's assurances as to its 'goodliness' and how it could 'help people', Merlin had no urge to use it. It was just simply… there.

And if he left it alone, then he wouldn't _need_ to learn how to use it.

"That is not entirely correct," the voice murmured. "Even should you leave it untouched, your Gift will rise to the fore as your magic develops. Magic wants to be used, Merlin. Denying it will only make the beast grow ever more agitated and keen to spread its wings."

Merlin flinched at the analogy. He didn't like to think of his magic as anything so untamed, even if it did feel as such sometimes. But more than that, "Could you please not listen to what I'm thinking? That's kind of rude." Merlin didn't know the protocol of telepathy, never being adept at it himself, but he was sure that eavesdropping must break them, surely. "And besides, you're wrong. It won't. If I just leave it alone, then it will just… go away."

"No, it won't." The grumbling reply completely overlooked Merlin's reprimand.

"Yes it will. That's what Mum always says."

"Does she now?" The voice raised in pitch slightly, in genuine surprise. "Now that I don't believe. I doubt your mother would be quite so foolish as to consider that to be a truth."

Once more, Merlin shifted uneasily. That was true, even if he chose to deliberately ignore that truth. Hunith had always coached him not to use it for fear that his Gift might be discovered, but Merlin had to admit that she had never claimed that it would simply 'go away'. That was just Merlin's wishful thinking. "Whatever. I don't care, I'm still not going to use it."

"Never?"

"Not ever."

"Not even if it could be used to help someone?"

Merlin uttered a pained squeak before he could help himself. The voice was using his own internal arguments against him. "Stop listening to my thoughts."

The voice chuckled. "I am not. At least, not in this instance. It is mere logic that would drive me to say as such. Tell me, Merlin. _Would_ you withhold from using your Gift if it could help someone?"

Merlin chewed his lip, fingers tugging with unnecessary force on the cuffs of his pyjama sleeves. He would. He knew he would. He had done it before, with Will, as both Will and his mother knew. And… and in other instances that he hadn't told anyone else about.

The voice continued before he could reply. "I do not possess your particular Gift, Merlin – for truly, there are few enough people throughout history who have – but I have a sound theory of many areas in the Dark Arts. Or at least as sound as any could have in such unknowable magics. I can help you to harness that gift, to use it before it uses you."

Shuddering at the words – it sounded too close to compulsion for Merlin's taste – he shook his head. "Why? Why would you want to help me?"

"Other than a past debt unpaid and hitherto unpayable? I am simply curious. Not to mention that working with you would be intriguing for me. I have never met one who had your particular… inclinations."

Ignoring the reference to the debt – Merlin didn't think he knew anyone who owed him a debt and he was fairly certain he'd never met the owner of the voice before – he shook his head. "I don't want to. I'm not going to use it, and I'm not going to learn how to use it. So you might as well just accept that."

The voice sighed. "So stubborn. Always so stubborn."

"Don't act like you know me," Merlin grumbled, but quietly beneath his breath in a way that could have been overlooked had the voice across the room chosen to do so.

He did. "Perhaps not now. Perhaps in time you will come to realise the benefits of my offer. Until then… perhaps I can help you in other ways."

Merlin discarded the suggestion of a future revision of his resolution, but couldn't help but pursue the second offer. If only out of curiosity. "Help me how?"

"You possess significant skill in wandless magic. From what I can tell, you appear almost more natural in casting wandlessly than through the channel of a magically-imbued instrument. That in itself is unusual, if not quite as much as your Dark Gift." He paused, and Merlin was given the impression that he brooded in something of a sulk for Merlin's repeated deflections.

He spoke again a moment later, however. "I myself was once considered a master of such skills," he said without a hint of arrogance. Somehow, that just made Merlin more disgruntled than if he had spoken with excessive pride. "And unless Uther takes it upon himself to teach you himself, you will not have a one professor so learned in wandless magic that could adequately instruct you."

It took Merlin a moment to recall that Uther was the headmaster, and when he did he nodded in acceptance of the truth. Though Pendragon might have offered to support Merlin in his education in any way possible, he did not himself become actively involved in such teachings. As far as Merlin could make out, he took only the first year's flying lessons and refereed the quidditch matches, and that was simply because he had such a deep affection for the sport. Merlin tried not to consider what a doubt standard that was.

Instead, he turned his attention back towards the shadowed corner. "Why are you offering to help me?"

"I told you, you interest me. And, as I have said, it is my hope that you will one day soon see the benefit of practicing and learning of your Gift."

Merlin bit back the urge to correct the speaker once more; they were obviously viewing Merlin's resistance from very different perspectives. Instead, he contemplated the suggestion. It was true, he did enjoy using wandless magic more than he did wielding a wand. It felt somehow freer, that he was more in tune with his magic when he simply spoke the words or, occasionally, didn't speak them at all and simply bent his magic to his will. And the voice had been right; thought he professors urged him to attempt to cast spells wandlessly after managing with a tool, it felt very much as though they were simply ticking a box. That they had to push themselves to remember to direct him to do so and that it was an added and unnecessary extension of his skills rather than an exploration of that which he ardently wished to learn.

It didn't anger Merlin so much as it saddened him. Here he'd thought, from the words of his mother, that school would be more tailored to his needs. And it was in many ways; though he still had to slog through textbooks, it had the added element of practical use that had been minimal at best under his mother's tutelage. But it just didn't feel… enough.

Squinting in an attempt to peer into the shadows further, Merlin set to chewing his lip once more. Tempting… it was very tempting… "Why are you hiding in the corner?" He asked.

The voice didn't respond immediately, and Merlin was given the impression that he was faintly surprised by Merlin's question. When he replied, it was more tentatively than he had spoken at all before. "I am simply aware that many – most – find my visage disconcerting. I did not wish to distress you."

"Well, if I'm going to learn from you, I should at least see who I'm learning from." Merlin shrugged. "Besides, how will I be able to copy what you do if I can't see you?"

There was an extended pause under which Merlin was unsure if the voice would actually respond. Then, with a scaping of what sounded faintly like skin on stone, a rustle of clothes, the shadows morphed and from their depths stepped a figure.

He was an incredibly big man. Huge, to say the least. Not broad and powerful as the headmaster was as much as simply… large. Long limbs were muscular and lean but not bulky, and the dark robes that hung from his frame did little to hide the fact. He moved with slow, deliberate steps but a stride or two from his corner before stopping and presenting himself for Merlin's inspection.

At first, Merlin didn't know what was so disagreeable about his 'visage'. He was a large man, yes, and that largeness could be deemed intimidating. His greying hair was a little shaggy, overgrown and hanging to his shoulders, and his wide-set eyes flashed amber, almost red in the candlelight. He had a way of standing that made it seem as though he teetered on readiness to lunge, and Merlin was admittedly relieved that he stood an entire room away, especially given the visible claw-like nails that curled and _snick_ ed against his palms as he flicked his fingers. Merlin thought that, more than anything else, it was the fact that he had declared himself capable of wandless magic that was disconcerting or worrying.

That was until Merlin perceived that the patching of his skin, the bubbly contours and the scab-like impressions that made him look almost scaled, were not a product of the poor lighting. He looked like a victim of a horrifying burn incident, or perhaps a plague of boils that hadn't healed properly, or a hex that had calloused his skin into an uneven carpet of dry skin and protrusions. It made it next to impossible to discern his age, any wrinkles he may possess effectively masked by the damage wrought upon his skin. Merlin understood what the man meant then; to many, such a visage would probably be horrifying to behold.

But Merlin had seen worse. Or at least he'd seen bad before, from patients who had travelled great lengths to visit his mother and bow beneath her healing hands. Not for some years, given that she had long since regressed into only simplistic healing arts, but he could recall them nonetheless. And this man, this Dark Arts professor, wasn't so different from any of them.

"S'not so bad," Merlin said with a shrug before he could help himself. "Not something I'd recommend you show off to the superficial idiots of the world, but yeah. Not so bad."

Thankfully, the man didn't appear offended. Instead, he blinked blankly for a moment, amber eyes puzzled, before he uttered his grumbling chuckle. "Only you, Merlin. Of course you would think as much."

Merlin didn't like to contemplate what the man meant. He didn't like the repeated references that insinuated a familiarity Merlin didn't feel. It was disconcerting. Turning from the room, he paused with a hand on the doorframe. "I think… I'll have to think about it. I would like to learn wandless magic better but…" He trailed off. He wasn't deterred by the man's physicality, not in the slightest, but more the emphasis he'd placed upon progressing towards learning to use his Dark magic. He didn't _want_ to go that far, and if he worked with the man, regardless of what he might say about restricting it to simply practicing wandless magic, Merlin was sure that the topic would be far from abandoned.

The man only bowed his head. He didn't look saddened or disheartened, or – blessedly – angered by Merlin's hesitancy. He merely shrugged. "Of course. Take your time. I've no doubt you are still coming to terms with the foreignness of your context. Hesitancy is not unexpected."

Merlin pursed his lips at that and shrugged once more. "Right. Well… I guess I'll see you if I see you?"

"You know where I am," the man replied with an inclination of his head.

Just as Merlin stepped back into the corridor, easing the door closed behind him, the man uttered one last phrase. It was barely audible, and Merlin hazarded that it was as much self-directed as it was spoken towards him. "I have to wonder how long it will take for you to settle… how long it will take to realise, once more, that you two aren't so different as you always seem to believe yourselves."

Merlin closed the door behind him. He didn't know what the man referred to, who he spoke of, and though his curiosity was once more sparked, he turned deliberately and made his way back through the corridors to the Slytherin common room. It was only when he found himself traversing familiar corridors that he realised just where he had been.

The Dark Arts professor was embedded in the depths of the Eastern Wing of the dungeons. In the region restricted by the headmaster from student access. With a touch of guilt, a flicker of unease, Merlin contemplated just exactly what that meant as he slipped back into bed once more. The thoughts washed away as soon as his head hit the pillow, however, and he fell into sleep without the cursed interruption of a grumbling old professor breathing incessantly into his ear.


	5. Plagues and Poisoned Chalices

                                                                       

"That's the part that I don't really understand, though. I don't... I mean, where does it come from?"

Gwen sighed with deliberate gentleness before replying., even managing a small smile in accompaniment to ease the edge from her words. "It's not that difficult to understand, Merlin."

"Then explain it to me," Merlin said as they rounded a corner on the way to Hufflepuff's common room. It was just the pair of them alone in the corridor, the sounds of their voices echoing off the emptiness. "Because I just don't really get it."

Sighing, Gwen extracted her want from her pocket. "Just think of it as a simple coagulation of the air, and then the produce of a reflective substance by use of your magic." With a flick and a flourish of her wand, she cast with precise enunciation, " _Cotigaro_ ".

In an instant the air shimmered beside her and an oval mirror of suspended reflectiveness sprung into existence at head height. Gwen banished it a moment later as the passed, their mirror images dissipating like smoke. "It's really quite simple."

"Not for me," Merlin persisted. "Where does the reflective stuff come from?"

"Why does it even matter?" Gwen sighed, exasperated. "You can cast the spell, can't you? And wandlessly at that. Why do you have to know where it comes from if you can cast it?"

"Of course I have to know. What would I say if Gorlois sprung the question in a test? I have to understand how it works before I can explain it to someone else."

Gwen shook her head, though a fond smile tweaked on her lips this time. "You're really a little pathetic with theory, aren't you?" Somehow she managed to say as much without sounding cruel. "How did you survive before coming to school with so few chances to practice actual magic?"

Merlin shrugged. It was a question he was asking himself more and more often of late. Only as the school term picked up pace did he realise just how dependent his education had been upon reading textbooks and largely struggling to understand the information that was gleaned from them. As Gwen pointed out on a frequent basis, and he was coming to realise with exceptional proximity, he wasn't 'book smart'. Gwen suggested that the fact that he excelled in practicing magic over simply learning about it was probably the reason he'd struggled in his younger years in what areas he had.

Although, she did also emphasise that he was hardly 'incompetent', as she phrased it. He was simply terrible at writing essays and easily distracted from learning by rote.

Gwen, Merlin had discovered in the past weeks, was smart. Very smart, and sucked up knowledge like a very bubbly and affectionate leech with an undying hunger. She confessed herself that she wasn't particularly magically strong – something that Merlin had already suspected from the thinner colouration of her magic that appeared as a veiled yellow-white cloud to his magical senses – but what she lacked in strength she more than compensated for with her encyclopaedic knowledge. Merlin had wondered often how she hadn't ended up sorted into Ravenclaw; it was only with the frequent reminder of her kindness of character that he recalled the reason she fit so well into Hufflepuff.

The houses, Merlin was coming to realise, were very distinctly segregated and largely carried the weight of stereotypes that, while not always valid, everyone seemed to accept as being so. Hufflepuffs were kind, caring, and just a little bit of a push over – something that Gwen seemed to subvert but persisted was a trait of her house anyway. Ravenclaws clutched greedily for knowledge to the abandonment of all other priorities, were a little fixated in their pursuit of such knowledge, and weren't ashamed to admit that they cared little for the welfare of even their friends if it impinged upon their education. Another stereotype that Merlin felt was probably a bit of an exaggeration too, but that Ravenclaws seemed to maintain existed and wore like a badge of honour.

Gryffindors were pig-headed, bulldozing, loud-mouthed twats. Or at least that was how Merlin saw them most of the time, and he had to admit that one person in particular swayed his opinion on the matter. Arthur still kept an eye on him with a stare just short of a glare, and he and his friends were always the loudest in the classroom. Merlin had to admit that, since the potions incident with the potentially explosive rat spleen, De Grace had been almost friendly towards him, but only in a distracted and detached sort of way. He never actually spoke to Merlin, not directly, but unlike Arthur seemed capable of expressing something more than disapproval, dislike or near-hatred for him. De Grace was another example of stereotypes subverted.

And then there were the Slytherins. Ambitious, cunning and self-serving seemed to be the general consensus for their personalities. A consensus that was absented from the books that pertained to the Hogwarts housing system but that Merlin had gradually come to realise weren't entirely inaccurate descriptions from other students. He couldn't deny that when it came to his housemates, such labels did indeed seem to be fairly accurate; Edwin rarely spoke unless he required something of another – such as requesting assistance with homework on infrequent occasions – and Cornelius was the prime example of self-serving. The girls in Merlin's year were just as bad, with perhaps the exception of Freya who seemed to be something of an outlier.

Merlin didn't know if he should be insulted or confused that the sorting hat had suggested that he suited Slytherin the most. He didn't see himself as ambitious, hoped that he wasn't self-serving, and the only cunning he possessed was a rather dextrous tongue that was well-practiced at telling white lies when it wasn't very noticeably slipping up. Mostly he spoke in harmless veilings of the truth when he did lie, of course, and usually only when he was hiding an embarrassing incident from his mother. But then, Hunith had always been remarkably gullible; Merlin wasn't sure if his dealings with deception was successful due to any skill of his own or simply the often surprising vagueness of his mother. For one so sharp of mind, she seemed to believe his tall tales with surprising willingness.

Not for the first time, nor even the hundredth, Merlin wished he could turn back time temporarily and maybe, just maybe, ask the sorting hat if it _really_ thought he was best suited to Slytherin. The fact that Gwen, Hufflepuff to the core with a good dash of Ravenclaw thrown in there, had rapidly become his best friend only added to the desire.

Merlin and Gwen had spent a significant amount of time together over the past few weeks. Even more in the last few days, accompanying one another for such short trips as from class or the library to their common rooms as they were now. Merlin had been surprised at first – why would Gwen want to spend time with him? Surely she had no shortage of friends – until he realised that she was just like that. No, she didn't want for friends, and seemed to have them in just about every house. She was even on cordial terms with Lamia, the girl who everyone generally considered mute to all who weren't Slytherin. But for whatever reason, with Gwen she did.

At every opportunity, Gwen was at Merlin's side with a beaming smile, more often than not linking an arm through his in a fond handhold of sorts that Merlin had initially found embarrassing and slightly uncomfortable but had swiftly become used to and even appreciated. He'd only ever seen her do the same with Sefa and it felt good to have a friend so ready so assure him of her friendship with physical touch as well as verbal demonstration. Poor Sefa, dragged along as she was in Gwen's wake at just about every instance and linked arm-in-arm herself, was likely sick of Merlin already. Although, he had to admit that she had seemed less aversive to breathing the same air of him of late.

Or at least she had. Until three days ago.

Turning into the corridor housing the Hufflepuff dorm, Merlin felt himself become grim with the reminder. When Gwen, chattering at his side about his pre-school education once more – as it was a fairly common topic – paused for breath, he asked, "How is Sefa, anyway, Gwen? Have you been to see her at all?"

Stuttering to a stop, Gwen's cheerful expression immediately dimmed. Casting her gaze down towards their linked arms, she patted her hand where it rested in the crook of Merlin's elbow. "I visited her yesterday. Livingstone says she's probably going to have to stay in the Hospital Wing for at least a few more days and won't be back on her feet for classes for another week at best even with the Strengthening and Cleansing Potions." She sighed heavily. "I brought her homework for her this morning but she was asleep when I visited. She looked pretty terrible."

Merlin hummed his sympathy. Sefa had fallen prey to the strange sickness that was pervading the school at the moment, seeiming to target no one group in particular but spread itself loosely throughout the students. And the teachers, if Seward's own paleness and brief withdrawal from teaching was any indication.

Gaius was tearing his hair out. Merlin had been to see him on several occasions since the epidemic had begun, and his uncle seemed to grow only more frazzled with each visit. He was distressed at the very notion that there were people sick and ailing that he couldn't heal, that he could only prop back on their feet with minimal effectiveness through use of Strengthening and Cleansing Potions. Gilli had returned to class only recently, nearly two weeks after he'd first fallen ill, and even so had still appeared pale and blue-lipped, wearying easily and prone to sweats that left him clammy and shaking in his seat.

It was worrying the professors, Merlin could see. The students too, but mostly because the professors were concerned. Merlin felt his own unease at the situation resurface increasingly with each student that fell prey to the illness; it was one thing for an epidemic to pass through the school but quite another for there to be an epidemic with no known cure. Not to mention that Gaius was exceptionally well-learned in his healing capacity. If he couldn't cure it, Merlin didn't know what to make of it.

He supposed they could only truly wait and see how events unfolded.

"I'm sure she'll be up on her feet soon," Merlin offered to Gwen by way of reassurance. "Gaius – I mean, Master Livingstone, he should find a cure sometime soon. He always does."

Gwen gave him a thankful smile as they drew to a stop before the collection of barrels that led into the Hufflepuff common room. "Thanks, Merlin. You're more than welcome to come and see her with me tomorrow if you'd like."

Merlin nodded. "Sure. After breakfast?"

"Sounds like a plan," Gwen agreed. Then, with an obvious attempt at light-heartedness, she shooed him away. "Now, off with you. I can't have you sneaky Slytherin's listening in to our password. Hufflepuff has never been invaded by anyone of a different house, you know. I plan to ensure it stays that way."

Merlin widened his smile, as much in amusement of his friend's antics as an attempt to mask the flinch of the unintentional blow that Gwen had dealt him with her offhanded comment. "And after I walked you back to your room and everything? I'm hurt, Gwen."

Gwen giggled, and any slight that Merlin may have felt was immediately vanquished by the sound. He was happy that, if nothing else, he'd managed to brighten her mood once more. "Stop it, you. I might actually start feeling sorry for you."

"That was the intention."

Giggling once more, Gwen gave him a playful shove before turning back towards the barrels. "Alright, off with you. Go on, go on."

Shaking his head, Merlin did as he was told. He could feel Gwen's eyes upon his back even as he rounded the corner, eyes upon his feet. His smile gradually slipped the further he walked from the dorm, however. Maybe he should go and see Gaius? His uncle had been appearing more and more unnerved by the situation of late, so much that he'd been absent from the Great Hall for mealtimes most days. Maybe Merlin could help somehow? He didn't know what he could do given that he was only a thirteen year old student and likely held but a candle to the bonfire of Gaius' knowledge of illnesses and diseases, but maybe he could –

The stumble and fall that afflicted him as Merlin bumped into the figure blocking his path nearly sent them both to the floor. Biting back a yelp of surprise, Merlin cursed both his downcast gaze and his unshakeable clumsiness and he grabbed onto the girl to steady her. Well, he admitted that it was to retain his own footing as much as it was to stop the girl from falling.

Unfortunately, whatever the girl had been carrying tumbled from her hands and fell to the floor in a tinkle of shattering glass. A spray of deep blue liquid burst across Merlin's shoes, the distinctive scent of aniseed wafting to the air.

"Oh! Oh shit, I'm so sorry!"

Blinking up at the girl before him as they both regained their stability, he blinked in surprise. She was an older girl, possibly sixth or seventh year, and stood at least half a head taller than him. And she was no one he was familiar with, which was strange, because Merlin made an effort to at least be able to recognise everyone at school. There was not even a distinctive colouration to her tie or robes to indicate her house. It took Merlin a moment to realise what it was about her, beneath the wide-eyed blinking of muddy-coloured eyes and the faint gaping of her mouth.

She was plain – exceptionally plain – but that plainness was the cast not of genetics but of a glamour. Merlin might not have been able to detect it – it was subtle, to be sure – except that for all of her unremarkable features, the brown hair half-covering her face and pale skin, she glowed just slightly. As though she stood beneath the faint rays of sunlight that couldn't possibly have reached so fair into the windowless corridors of Hogwarts castle. Merlin wasn't familiar with glamors, no, but he could detect the presence of magic like a _Lumos_ in the dark and the girl was very definitely using it. She wore it like a robe.

That, and the fact that the girl stood with one foot through an opening in the wall, behind an exceptionally large portrait of a fruit bowl. Glancing at the portal through that wall, Merlin blinked in surprise at what was clearly a kitchen. An immense kitchen at least as large as the Great Hall, with five tables arranged along its length to mimic that of the dining room arranged, Merlin considered after a brief moment of contemplation, directly above it. The walls were lined with stoves and ovens, cabinets and draws, and scurrying about in a melee of coordinated steps was a veritable army of house elves, standing barely three feet high. They darted back and forth carrying trays overhead with ears flapping and squeaky voices calling in unintelligibly across the room.

Merlin had never seen the kitchens before. He hadn't even known it stood so closely to the Hufflepuff dorm.

Glancing back towards the girl – she'd shifted nervously away from him with eyes growing less anxious and more wary – he frowned in confusion. Dinner was already being served in the Great Hall, so why…? "What were you doing in the kitchen? I didn't even know that students were allowed in there."

The girl's mouth opened and closed in a gesture reminiscent of a gasping fish. She didn't make any sound, however, and for all that she didn't look repentant or shamefaced in the slightest, Merlin did have to admit he felt a little sorry for her. Not to mention the fact that she was older than him and what did he know? Maybe older students were allowed some leeway into restricted areas?

Even if it did seem a little strange that she was wearing a glamor. That part he couldn't quite understand.

Glancing down at the mess around his feet, at the slowly seeping blue liquid creeping towards his shoes, Merlin extended a hand above it. _"Reparo",_ he muttered, releasing a tendril of magic and, catching the shattered bottle in his hand as it glued itself together once more before springing into the air, he swept his opposite hand in a gesture to funnel the liquid back within. It was a bit of a messy process, and he managed to spill some of whatever the liquid was on his fingers, but he managed well enough. He held out the bottle out towards the girl, ducking his head sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I hope I got most of it back in for you."

With that continued wariness, the girl slowly reached out. She flickered her eyes between the glass bottle and Merlin, the bottle then back to Merlin, before, in a motion as swift as a darting snake, she snatched it form his grasp. A second later she'd turned tail and run, leaving only the faint, sun-glow impression of her magical glamor in her wake. The portrait of the fruit bowl swung shut as she no longer propped it open and the faint clatter of plates, pans and cutlery vanished with it.

Merlin blinked at her sudden disappearance. "You're welcome, then." Really, he shouldn't have been the only one to apologise. True, he hadn't been watching where he was going but then neither had she.

Shaking his head, Merlin set off down the corridor once more. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of aniseed that clung like an overpowering perfume to his fingers, he resolved that he would at least make a stop off in the showers before going to dinner.

* * *

Merlin smiled at Gwen as she entered the Great Hall, waving to him as she walked beside her brother and followed him towards Gryffindor table. Gwen did that; she was as comfortable with sitting at other tables as her own. It was a skill that few others in the school had mastered, and Merlin was not one of them.

Fork in hand, Merlin went back to prodding through his mashed potato as he worked a Distillation Charm in an attempt to greater concentrate the juice in his glass. It would likely make a particularly unappetising beverage, but it was only for practice's sake. Besides, Merlin didn't even like pumpkin juice. He'd never drunken it back in Ealdor, having never even heard of it before coming to Hogwarts, and felt no such inclination to start partaking of it now. Honestly, the smell of it made him feel just a little sick.

He listened with only half an ear to the words of his housemates around him. Or, more correctly, to Cornelius as he nattered away to anyone who would listen. The third year girls across the table – or the two that remained – ignored him entirely. Edwin seemed to be listening only to a minimal degree, and Gilli appeared half asleep in his seat. The thin, blue venation at his temples was more prominent that evening, but Merlin didn't think he should be any more concerned for his peer than usual. Gilli's wellness seemed to fluctuate as frequently as the changing weather of late.

As was usual for him, Cornelius was complaining. It wasn't even an original topic, Merlin noted, but one he'd been somewhat fixated upon for the past few days. He suspected it had something to do with the gradually approaching quidditch season that begun in early November.

"It just hardly seems fair that _no_ third years are on the quidditch team. I mean, look at Gryffindor team; half of their squad in made up of third years."

"Yeah, that's because they can actually ride a broom with some vague skill," Edwin muttered, stabbing into his meatloaf with a smirk. Merlin was mildly surprised that he actually deigned to answer Cornelius at all.

"So you say! They're not _that_ good."

"Gryffindor won the house cup by miles last year because of them."

"Not _just_ because of them," Cornelius persisted, his nose wrinkling in disgruntlement. "It's just because they're new meat and the rest of the teams haven't changed their players for the last couple of years."

"Didn't Grayson just join our team this year?" Gilli said, before clamping his lips closed as speech evidently provoked his nausea. He went back to peering distastefully down at his dinner.

Cornelius ignored him anyway. "If I was on the team, then it would throw a spanner in the works."

"Yeah, it certainly would. Because you suck," Edwin said with another smirk. Only for it to shift into a scowl as Cornelius elbowed him indignantly. "Oi, lay off, would you?"

"Then stop being such a wanker," Cornelius retaliated. Sharing a scowl with Edwin, he swept up his own pumpkin juice and took a sip. Out of the corner of his eye, as he flicked his fingers once more at his own cup and further distilled the dregs of his juice for the pure water skimmed atop it, he saw Cornelius pull a face. "It's not just me, right? This pumpkin juice tastes weird."

Glancing at him, Merlin cocked his head curiously and peered past Edwin to the other boy. "Weird how?" Honestly, it all tasted fairly terrible to Merlin. He'd long since given up attempting to acclimatise his tastebuds to the substance.

Cornelius licked his lips, took another sip, and once more pulled a face. "I don't know. Just weird."

"Well maybe you should stop drinking it, then," Edwin said with the slow deliberate tone of someone stating the obvious. Only to jerk away from Cornelius as the cup was thrust towards him. "What? Ew, no, I'm not going to drink it."

"I'm telling you, it tastes weird."

"So then why would I want to drink it?"

Cornelius, scowling at him once more, reached over his head to the grumbles and curses of Edwin and held out the cup to Merlin. "Here, you try it."

Merlin shook his head, pulling a face himself in the memory of distaste. "No thanks. I don't even like it."

"Neither do I, actually, but it's better than orange juice."

"I have to disagree with you on that."

Cornelius nearly batted him on the side of the head in his insistence, leaning over a grumbling Edwin with his persistence. "Just try it already. I don't trust Gilli's tastebuds since he got sick."

"I'm not even sick anymore," Gilli protested, but Cornelius ignored him, just as he ignored Edwin's increasingly loud grumbles. It was so like Cornelius; when he wanted something, he maintained and complained and demanded until he got it.

Sighing, raising his eyes skyward briefly towards the evening storm clouds above, Merlin accepted the glass. Sniffing in disgust at the thick juice, under Cornelius's careful eye and Edwin's bored one he took a sip. Only to spit it back into the cup the second it touched his tongue.

"Ew, Merlin! You just contaminated my juice!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have given it to him in the first place, then," Edwin smirked even more widely than before. He would take any opportunity to tease the living daylights out of Cornelius.

"I just wanted him to tell me how it tasted!"

"Just pour yourself another cup then," Edwin sighed.

"But that was _my_ cup."

"Salazar, you're such a baby. It's just a cup."

Merlin barely heard the words of his housemates. He was blinking in alarm down at the cup in his hand, a frown growing upon his brow. Yes, it did taste weird, and not only for the distinctive, dissatisfying taste of pumpkin that he'd come to detest. There was a faint, underlying flavour, a sharpness that shouldn't be there. It tasted, if Merlin was to hazard a guess, like licorice.

Or aniseed.

 _It couldn't just be a coincidence, surely,_ he thought, shaking his head. Ignoring the continued and rising argument of his friends, as well as Gilli's momentary questioning gaze as he passed him, Merlin clutched the glass and started for the head table.

Gaius wasn't at dinner that night again, and neither were a number of other professors simply because of the timing of his arrival in the Great Hall. But Alice was, and she raised her gaze from her plate, offering Merlin a warm smile as he approached her.

"Merlin, what can I do for you?"

Out of direct earshot of his fellow pupils, Alice always called Merlin by his first name. At any other time, it would have elicited a returning smile, but Merlin was thinking too deeply, was growing too disturbed with every minute of contemplation, for him to attempt it that moment. Alice's smile dimmed slightly as she beheld his frown. "What is it?"

Holding the cup out to his aunt, Merlin spoke in a hushed tone so as not to be overheard. "I think – I mean, I'm not sure, but I think there might be some sort of poison in the pumpkin juice. A potion or something."

Alice's smile fell completely from her face to be replaced by wide-eyed alarm. "What?"

"I just… I think it might be poisoned."

To her credit, Alice didn't immediately disregard his suspicions. Though seemingly air-headed at times and as consistently positive as Gwen was, she was not so carefree as to discard a potential problem. She had always taken Merlin seriously when the need arose; it was one of the main reasons Merlin felt comfortable enough to approach her about the upwelling of foreboding he'd felt upon tasting the juice, upon recalling the collision he'd had with the girl in front of the kitchens early that afternoon.

Rising from her seat without another glance to her dinner, Alice snatched up the glass from Merlin's hands and gestured for him to follow her from the Hall. Merlin hastened in the footsteps of her strides, barely hearing the questioning calls of his housemates as he passed or seeing the wave of farewell that Gwen offered him as he left. By the time they were through the Entrance Hall, he nearly had to run to keep up with her.

* * *

"Why are you even waving to him?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in exasperation as Gwen nearly rose from her seat to farewell the Slytherin boy as he left the hall. Emrys didn't even glance in her direction before disappearing through the doors behind Professor Livingstone. Arthur resented him for that.

Gwen, as was usual whenever Arthur brought up the subject of Emrys, scowled at him. "Because he's my friend. Obviously."

"I still don't know why you wanted to be his friend in the first place," Arthur said, lifting his chin slightly to withstand the full force of Gwen's disapproval. "People don't appreciate pity cases, Gwen. You'll just make him feel worse when he finds out."

"Oh, and I'm sure you'd really care how he felt, would you?" Somehow, even when sitting, Gwen seemed to make herself grow taller as she folded her arms and deepened her scowl. "And besides, it's not a pity case. I happen to quite like his company. It's certainly more agreeable than _some_ people I could mention." The widening of her eyes and intensifying of her glare at Arthur left no confusion as to whom she referred to.

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, only to have Elyan kick him under the table in a reminder to cease his persistence. He'd discussed it with his friends, the rising discontent that had sprung between Elyan's little sister and himself, and they had unanimously agreed that each of them would strive to avoid triggering Gwen's anger at all costs. Easy for them to say; Percival seemed largely indifferent towards Emrys, Elyan was swayed by his sister's opinion as he always was, and Leon had seemed to dampen his agreement with Arthur as to the Slytherin boy's disagreeable nature after what had happened in potions several weeks before. He seemed to actually have developed a mild case of hero worship for Emrys, which was just faintly _horrifying_.

That was probably the most distressing part of the situation. Arthur was trying – he really was trying – to minimise his own negative attitude towards Emrys. Even if it was just to placate Gwen, who always rose in full battle armour in defence of what Arthur and his friends termed her 'mother goose response'. And if he was being honest with himself, Arthur would admit that, since their first explosive confrontation, Emrys hadn't been terribly objectionable. Or at least not too much. He even seemed largely unnoticeable in most cases, if one overlooked the additional instructions of each professor in spell-casting lessons that directed him to attempt the spell wandlessly when he'd achieved it by normal means. He was competent with practical magic at least, Arthur had noticed.

Even so, he was apparently largely unnoticed by everyone else. After the initial novelty of the 'new kid' and 'wandless magic' had worn off, he'd slipped from the spotlight. Not so much for Arthur, however. It wasn't just that he was a new Slytherin and purebloods such as Arthur had long since held strong to their school house alliances and rivalries, though that was a significant contributor. He was the only true pureblood amongst his friends; even if Leon came close, he still had some crossbreeding in his lineage, and that disrupted the long-held ideals and expectations of the Pendragon family.

Arthur knew, had undergone exposure to such emphasis upon Gryffindor's rivalry with Slytherin, since he was a child. His father, for all that he was the headmaster of Hogwarts, was never one to deny his own bias for the house he'd been in during his own schooling days. As such, he still held a similar bias against the Slytherins. Not openly, of course, but Arthur knew it persisted nonetheless. How could Arthur not be swayed by it? He was a Gryffindor, and their rivals were, traditionally, Slytherins. It was a long-accepted animosity and one he hadn't been able to overcome as of yet, regardless of how he tried.

And try he did. Sometimes. Mostly because people like Gwen urged him to, but also because he wanted to. Coming to school and having his pureblood prejudices laid bare before him had been an eye-opening experience to say the least. Within his first year, Arthur had been very much confronted with the reality that there was a distinct flaw in his character. Mostly because he had become friends with Gwen and Elyan, both of them second generation Muggleborns, who, traditionally, would have been considered little more than Muggles themselves and hence not worthy of his pureblood consideration.

Such a revelation, such an exposure of his flaws, made Arthur want to seek out those others that his friends hinted, though kindly, that he still possessed. One such flaw was his discontent around Slytherins. Surprisingly, such aversion was as hard to shake as that he'd had to Muggleborns and half-bloods. He attributed it to the fact that all of the Slytherins he knew – with the exception of Morgana, of course, even if he did consider his childhood friend evil at times – were all disagreeable.

When it came to Emrys, it was more than that. More than the fact that he'd insulted Arthur when they'd first met, or that he was a Slytherin. More even than that, for whatever reason, Gwen seemed to have taken his side against Arthur's despite nearly two whole years of mutual friendship on their part. Because Emrys was _weird_. Not, perhaps, to most people, though word along the grapevine suggested he was still a bit of a curiosity for more than just his wandless spell-casting.

It was his damned magic, the coldness, the chill that flared with an icy touch whenever he used wandless magic too closely to Arthur. Arthur had come to resent the use of that magic, had come to hope that Emrys would take longer to learn the spell with his wand than he typically did, simply because that coldness was so _annoying._ And distracting. Even worse, no one else seemed able to feel it. Arthur knew it was just that his Pendragon education, his trained and genetic awareness of other's magic, made him more sensitive to it. That knowledge didn't help in the slightest, however, when he was gritting his teeth against a pervading blizzard behind him in the middle of a Transfiguration class. Even the professors didn't seem to notice the strength of Emrys' magic. Could they really not detect it?

He could hardly be blamed for staring at the other boy. And if he immediately felt obliged to glare the moment Emrys noticed that staring, it was only to be expected. Wasn't it?

Another kick to his shin jolted Arthur out of his thoughts. It came from Gwen this time, who had apparently been talking at him while he'd been distracted by contemplation. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Grumbling, tightening the fold of her arms across her chest, Gwen frowned deeper. "I said, you could at least try and be nice to him a little more. He's actually really nice, and he's funny, and he's smart –"

"He's not smart," Arthur corrected, suppressing the urge to smirk triumphantly. "I've seen the marks he gets back on his essays. Average at best."

"Just because he's not wonderful at writing essays doesn't mean he isn't smart," Gwen persisted. "You know Gorlois has actually instructed to start learning some fifth level Charms in his own time?"

"Really?" Elyan asked from her other side, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Gwen, glancing at her brother, beamed like a proud mother at his curiosity. "Really. He's actually really talented with his magic, and more than just because he can cast wandlessly. He's helped me a couple of times when I've had trouble getting something."

"He's pretty good at Transfiguration and DADA too," Percival murmured from across the table, glancing up only briefly from his dinner to add his contribution.

"And he obviously knows at least a little bit about Potions," Leon added. "After all, he did save me from –"

"Yes, yes, Leon, we've all heard about your idolisation," Arthur cut in before Leon could begin another spiel about how nice it was of Emrys to jump in before he "blew his own head off". The words Leon used were exactly the same. Every. Single. Time. "I'm just saying, there's more to being 'smart' than just being able to cast spells."

"I have noticed that he's a little patchy with his knowledge," Percival said with a slow, contemplative nod seemingly directed towards his plate. "Nothing too noticeable but just like he's brushed over on some things. He's not exactly infallible."

"Thank you, Percy," Arthur said with a sigh. "Nice to see not all of my friends are ganging up on me."

"We're not ganging up on you, Arthur," Gwen said, her scowl returned doubled as she turned to him once more. Whatever happened to the kind, sweet Gwen that always seemed inclined to brush aside what she called Arthur's bull-headedness? Arthur found he missed that Gwen. "We're simply stating the facts. And trying to make you realise you're being a prejudiced nincompoop."

As always when Gwen failed entirely with speaking any real cusses, Arthur couldn't find it within himself to tease her for it. She was entirely genuine in her derision, and in some ways that made the childish taunt all the worse. Worse because, childish as it was, it still stung a little. Gwen _never_ swore, but that didn't mean her scolding couldn't be harsh.

Worse than that, she'd said the P word. Arthur hated when anybody said the P word with reference to him. It touched a little too close to home.

"Look, can we drop this conversation? Just get over it?"

"Technically, you were the one who started it," Leon pointed out shrewdly.

"You're not helping, Leon."

"Just stating the truth," he replied with a grin. Damn him, but they'd been friends for too long that Arthur's frown no longer fazed him in the slightest. What sort of friendship didn't carry at least a hint of wariness for when tempers flared?

"Whatever. Can we talk about something else please?"

"Like quidditch?" Elyan offered.

"Yes! Like quidditch!" Arthur agreed, jumping on the offer like a cat on a mouse. Not only was it an alternative conversation topic but it was entirely relevant at the moment. The first match of the season was only a few weeks away.

Gwen groaned, letting her scowl slide from her face. "Noooo, please no. I _hate_ it when all of you sport junkies start talking about quidditch."

"If you don't like it, don't listen," Elyan said with a grin at his little sister. "Or, better yet, go and sit at your own table."

"Are you kicking me out?"

"Maybe."

Shouldering her brother without any heat, Gwen heaved a deep sigh and rose to her feet. "Fine. You guys are all boring anyway. Honestly, I don't know how you can talk about the exact same thing _all day_."

"It's called a passion," Leon said with an easy smile. "You'd know if you played. You must be about the only person in the school that doesn't actually enjoy watching a quidditch match."

Sniffing, Gwen turned her face away from Leon. She couldn't withhold her own smile, however; few could in the face of Leon's grin. "Some people can," she said as she started back towards her own table. "Merlin can."

Arthur found that he managed to ignore that last remark as he and his friends fell into quidditch discussion. He found he could all but forget the issue of Merlin Emrys entirely when it came to sports talk. He, Leon, Elyan and Percival effectively abandoned even their dinners, barely noticing as the Great Hall slowly filled more completely with students and teachers alike as the night progressed.

Unfortunately, it was a little hard to continue forgetting Emrys when said Slytherin burst through the double doors not half an hour later. He was panting heavily, his robes slightly askew as they hung from his lanky frame, and nearly tripping over his feet as he stumbled into the room. His cheeks were ashen white, and Arthur blinked in surprise, flinching slightly as his presence brought with it an onrush of freezing cold. The cold of his magic.

Emrys barely managed to skid to a stop in the middle of the central aisle, ignoring the heads that turned towards him as he raised his hands. And instant later, without even the words as a catalyst, a flare of deeper iciness buffeted Arthur in tangible waves as his magic flung forth. And every glass, mug and pitcher in the room exploded upwards in a cascade of projecting vents like erupting blowholes.

Shrieks rang through the hall. Cusses quickly followed and the scape and clatter of overturned benches right behind. Arthur nearly fell backward off his seat as his own glass exploded, spraying thick, orange pumpkin juice into the air. Only momentarily, however, for reaching its height, the clouds of juices, waters and teas reached their apex, hung suspended for a split second, then poured back down again. Another, louder round of shrieks and cries, of splutters and falling bodies followed. Arthur felt effectively drowned by the sudden downpour

" _Suspendiss!_ Enough!"

Like a whip-crack, the headmaster's command sliced through the room. As the gushing showed abruptly ceased, droplets pausing mid fall under magical demand, the cries and wails of distress quelled with it. Arthur turned slowly towards the head table. With one hand, he wiped at his eyes, blinking up at his father as his vision cleared.

Uther looked furious. Arthur doubted that anyone but he would be able to discern quite the depth of his anger, but then few others had seen his father truly angry before. It was apparent in the stoniness of his face, in the flash in his eyes and the stiffness of his grasp upon his outstretched wand that looked tight enough to surely snap that wand in half. It didn't snap, but that might have been because, a moment later, he cast it in a complicated arc that swept the suspended droplets into a roiling mass of multi-coloured water overhead before vanquishing it into oblivion. A warm, dry breeze spread throughout the room a second later, lifting the dampness from Arthur and those around him with rippling gusts of air.

Uther barely seemed aware of his own actions. His eyes were fastened upon Emrys, who, still breathing heavily from his incoming flight, stood at the very centre of the room. He looked like nothing if not a bedraggled rat for the spiking of his damp, dark hair, the haphazard fall of his robes and their patchy wetness. He peered warily up at Arthur's father, and Arthur noticed with a certain detachedness that he plucked with evident nervousness as the cuffs of his sleeves, fingers just out of sight.

Arthur wasn't the only one watching him. Everyone in the room, everyone upon their feet and blinking, trembling slightly in the sudden damp chill and open mouthed in silent and disgruntled surprise, stared at either the headmaster or Emrys. A pin could have been heard dropped with the sound of a struck gong.

"Mr Emrys," Uther began, his voice like steel ringing out across the hall. Had anyone still been speaking, they would surely have been silenced by the faintest sound in such a tone. Arthur could at least admit that he admired Emrys' ability to withhold a flinch. Arthur himself could barely manage that much. "Such disruptive behaviour is _not_ tolerated at Hogwarts. Explain yourself. What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Emrys, still staring unblinkingly up at Uther with enormously wide eyes, opened his mouth for a moment before closing it. He seemed to struggle to find words evidently managed to grasp them a moment later. "Making sure no one else gets poisoned, sir?"

His words rung clear and resounding throughout the room despite their subdued tone, attracting a different attention to that which the headmaster's induced. Not a person in the Great Hall seemed to breath. The sizzle of drying clothes was the only sound that interrupted the absolute silence.

Arthur blinked. He stared blankly at Emrys for a moment even as Emrys stared unwaveringly at the head table, then drew his gaze towards his father. Incomprehension had momentarily replaced the anger on Uther's face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The poison. In the, um… in the pumpkin juice, sir?"

" _What_ are you talking about, Mr Emrys?"

If possible, Emrys' cheeks paled further. Arthur felt another brush of iciness stroke his magical senses, softer this time and more like a puff of cold breath, and from the brief frown that creased his father's brow he thought Uther felt it too. He didn't comment though, remaining silent as Emrys spoke.

When Emrys did, his words came in a stumbling rush. Yet even if his tone was still subdued, there was determination in the speed of his words.

"At dinner, sir, I noticed that the pumpkin juice had an odd taste to it. Well, Cornelius noticed that it tasted odd, then he suggested I try it and, well… it tasted familiar and strange. Sort of like aniseed, but it was so faint that I probably wouldn't have even realised it was there if Cornelius hadn't pointed it out first."

"It did," Percival murmured, barely audibly. Arthur frowned – he hadn't noticed; had he even had any juice? – but didn't glance away from Emrys.

"And I had a – a thought about something. I mean, I remembered something, about – about something I'd read in potions about that particular flavour, and it got me wondering. So I spoke Alice – um, Professor Livingstone about it and said that I thought something was wrong, and then we went to her lab and she separated and extracted the juice from the liquid in the cup and found a trace presence of some sort of potion left behind."

"A potion? A dangerous potion?" Arthur's uncle, Agravaine, standing previously silent in his post as deputy by Uther's side, raised his eyebrows in incredulity. "You are suggesting you're adept enough in compositional detection of potion ingredients to ascertain the nature of this potion? That it is, in fact, a poison?"

"He's good at potions, he'd be able to," Leon murmured. For once, Arthur had no objection to that. Even if he was slightly dubious as to the degree of Emrys' intelligence, he couldn't deny that Livingstone apparently thought he was capable. Besides, he _had_ helped them weeks ago – rescued them, really – from a potential explosion. Arthur would admit that, even if he didn't like to.

Arthur knew what his uncle Agravaine was doing, though. If Uther demonstrated moderate bias towards Gryffindors, then Agravaine was the extreme. He certainly made less of an attempt to conceal that bias too, which had never really bothered Arthur before, especially when it was Slytherin who was disadvantaged. But for whatever reason, he suddenly didn't approve of Agravaine's condescension towards Emrys. Whether it was the absolutely guileless sincerity on Emrys' face or something else, Arthur didn't know, but for the first time he felt a flicker of irritation towards his uncle for attempting to cow the other boy.

Fortunately, surprisingly, Emrys didn't appear terribly cowed at all. Maybe he was just too stupid to realise the scepticism that Agravaine didn't even bother to conceal; Arthur didn't know. But instead of cringing or shrinking in a quailing mess, he merely shook his head sharply and continued. "No, professor, not me. Ali – Professor Livingstone did. She ran a quick analysis of it, did a simulated sequence of its effects upon organic material, and it showed up to have the same sort of effects as the ones that the sick students have been getting. That's when I thought that whatever the potion was, who – wherever it had come from, was probably put it in the food – or at least the pumpkin juice – and that was why so many people were getting sick. So I just…" He waved his hand in a fluttering gesture that in no way resembled that he'd done upon exploding every beverage in the room. "I just… sort of… blasted it all."

All of a sudden, at the end of his spiel, Emrys appeared to realise where he was. Glancing around himself, Arthur felt another waft of coldness brush over him as the Slytherin boy fidgeted, somehow seemed to stumble in place, and hunched his shoulders slightly. In a voice so quiet and subdued it would have been unheard had not the entire hall been so hushed, he muttered, "Sorry for the mess, sir. I'll clean it up."

Arthur's father kept his face blankly expressionless. It was a different kind of expressionless to his stony fury, however; Arthur knew this for he'd had to become acquainted with the slightest quirks in Uther's expressions years ago to avoid reprimand. Instead of anger, Uther was fluctuating between bafflement, concern and incredulity, all of which was barely perceivable through the tightness of his face, the slight bulge of his jaw muscle, the infinitesimal twitch in his eye that Arthur knew he'd inherited. When he spoke, however, his tone was absent of anything but his stoic headmaster persona. Beginning a slow skirting of the head table, Agravaine on his heels, he descended the steps of the professor's dais with the words, "Where is Professor Livingstone, Mr Emrys? Can she validate your claims?"

Emrys swallowed visibly before casting a glance over his shoulder towards the doors of the Great Hall. Arthur didn't think it was to consider flight so much as in search of Livingstone, or at least some kind of back up to face the combined and descending forces of the headmaster and his deputy. When he turned back, he nodded shortly. "She's still in her lab, sir. I think… she was probably going to start on the cure straight away. I think." He glanced down at his fingers for a moment as they plucked at his sleeves with renewed vigour. A moment later, however, he raised his gaze and there was a determination in his gaze that left Arthur blinking in surprise once more. "I can drink the juice with the potion in it if you'd like, sir."

Both Uther and Agravaine paused in step, blinking in identical expressions incredulity. Arthur hardly noticed, barely heard his father's reply of, "What on earth would you do that for?" as he stared with widening eyes at Emrys. _What are you, an idiot? Didn't you just say that it was poisoned? Why would you drink it if it was poisoned?_

Though he knew that Emrys answered his father, it sounded as though he spoke in direct response to Arthur's shouted thoughts. He shrugged. "If it would prove it to you, I don't mind. Professor Livingstone is brewing an antidote anyway." He shrugged once more. "I just figured, if it would help you believe me."

It was so foolish. So unutterably stupid, in both form and sentiment, that Arthur was rendered gobsmacked. _Gods, you are such a_ nitwit, _Emrys. There are so many other ways to prove it and you offer to bloody well drink the poisonous potion?_

It could have been a product of his incredulity. It could have been Leon's fervent muttering at his side, or Percival's quiet speculations as to the truth of Emrys' words. Or it could have been that Arthur considered that no one in their right mind would make such a spectacle of themselves, would tempt his father's wrath, unless they were telling the truth. And maybe Emrys wasn't in his right mind, but Arthur shoved such a possibility aside.

 _Gwen would be so happy with me,_ was all he could think when he spoke up. "He's telling the truth, Headmaster. I myself tasted something unsavoury in the juice, and though I've not as much knowledge in the specifics of potions ingredients as Emrys, I would trust his word."

There. He'd said it. It wasn't entirely true given that he hadn't actually tried any of the juice that evening, but no one else knew that. He'd effectively drawn Uther's attention towards himself too, momentarily pulling Emrys from being the target of his scepticism.

Just as importantly, Arthur knew he'd effectively drawn the gazes of everyone in the room. That in itself was not exactly problematic; Arthur had long ago learned that he quite liked being at the centre of everyone's attention, provided it was in a positive – or even neutral – fashion. If anything, it was a benefit to the situation, diffusing some of the intensity, the tension that was mounting as Emrys gradually seemed to shrink beneath the spotlight. Arthur, bathing in that attention, lifted his chin slightly, grounded himself in his stance in a way that alleviated the almost imperceptible flutter of nerves triggered by his father's gaze, and stared Uther down.

And he very resolutely did _not_ acknowledge the stunned expression that Emrys turned upon him. He almost looked as though someone had struck him with a _Confundus_ Charm.

In most situations, Arthur knew his word would not, ultimately, count for all that much. He knew that in privacy his father may have considered them, picked them apart and told him everything that could possibly be construed as inaccurate in his brief statement before setting it deliberately to the side and moving on with 'adult conversation'.

But this was in the Great Hall. This was in front of every student, and this was putting Arthur's own beliefs, his own trust, on the line. If Uther discredited him, disregarded him, he would be humiliating his son and heir and making a fool out of them both. Briefly, Arthur wondered at what possible incentive could have struck him to speak up in Emrys' defence. He didn't like the other boy – he'd called him an ass, after all – and doubted he would ever consider him with anything more favourable than nonchalance, but he ignored his flicker of self-doubt. If there was anything that Uther had taught him, it was to stick by his decision, to admit his wrongs after careful contemplation, and fight for that new resolution.

The headmaster stared at Arthur for a moment, and it was with that same blank-faced stoniness as always though touched with just a hint of emotion beneath. Contemplation, consideration and decisiveness flickered briefly before Uther turned back towards Emrys. "That will be quite unnecessary, Mr Emrys. If you will, however, I would request your accompaniment to Professor Livingstone's rooms. I would hear your combined stories more fully, if you would."

Emrys nodded his head, though Arthur knew the headmaster's request wasn't so much a request as an order. Uther barely acknowledged his reply. Raising his gaze, he scanned the room at large, seeming to make eye contact with every student briefly and Arthur just a second longer. "All students will return to their dormitories immediately. Heads of Houses will conduct an analysis for symptoms of poison in every student; ensure that you have all been seen to before retiring to you beds."

Then, with a fluttering billow of his robes that Arthur had always admired and strove to emulate, Uther strode from the room. Agravaine, naturally, fell into step behind him, while Emrys paused only briefly in momentary hesitation before quickly spun and scampered after him. Arthur bit back a snort as he nearly tripped on the hem of his robes in his haste.

The rest of the students in the Great Hall quickly began a flurry of whispered conversation. Arthur caught snippets of it quite without his intention.

"Poisoned? The juice was poisoned?"

"You didn't drink any did you?"

"I think some of it went up my nose when my cup exploded!"

"Who poisoned it?"

And, most disconcertingly, "Then Emrys; he saved us, didn't he?"

At that last, Arthur couldn't withhold another contemptuous snort. Saved them? What, by nearly drowning everyone in their own drinks?

Still, even with such contempt, with the upwelling exasperation towards the Slytherin boy, Arthur couldn't deny that he felt just a touch of approval for Emrys' actions. It seemed far more Gryffindor than Slytherin, both the explosive response and the offer of drinking the poison and though Arthur knew that such a thought was nothing if not an embodiment of the dreaded P word, he admitted that such a realisation did soften his impression of the other boy. Marginally.

 _Still,_ he thought, as he followed a still gushing Leon towards Gryffindor tower – really, his friend's hero worship seemed to have grown once more – and as he resolutely ignored the satisfied smile that Gwen flashed him from across the room, _he is an idiot. This changes nothing._

Even Arthur didn't entirely believe his own words.

* * *

Merlin had half expected to get a detention for his actions in the Great Hall, regardless of whether they were considered beneficial to his fellow students or not. He couldn't shake the stare that the headmaster had fastened upon him right after it had happened that, although it was as blank as a wiped slate, for some reason have given him the impression of intense anger.

It hadn't happen. Quite the opposite actually. The school was scoured top to bottom, Merlin providing the professors with a description of both the glamor the girl had worn and what he could sense of her magic. They were unsuccessful in their searching. The girl appeared to have vanished, or at least was masking her magic so effectively that the professors couldn't find her. Merlin suspected that she had likely been a seventh year; no one else, surely, could be so adept at concealing themselves. Why someone would even want to poison the whole school into sickness baffled Merlin, but whatever fit had taken the girl – or boy, he admitted to himself, as was very much possible to mask with a skilful glamor – seemed to have passed. Or at least, no one else fell ill from that point onwards.

Eventually, the professors had to admit their defeat, to simply add the situation to the list of incident reports at the school with the intention of bearing it in mind for potential future dilemmas of a similar kind. To "set a precaution and instil prior warning", Alice explained to Merlin when he questioned that they would stop searching and resolve to such a seemingly inadequate conclusion. He could hardly complain, however; he couldn't think of a suggestion pertaining to the subject either.

Thankfully, with the combined efforts of Alice with her potion-making and Gaius with his recommendations to combat the symptoms, the epidemic of potion-induced plague was reversed. Within a week the students were back on their feet, Gilli as vague and listless as he had been before he'd fallen ill and Sefa the constant, near-silent companion to Merlin and Gwen once more.

Merlin didn't know what to make of the incident, and it was as much because of Arthur's unexpected input, his supposed temporary change of heart in which he'd actually, for whatever reason, stood by Merlin as anything else. It didn't make sense, and even when Merlin had tentatively asked Gwen she had only shrugged with a small smile and confessed she didn't know why he'd done it. It was, as with the nature of the potion-maker, a mystery.

Even more confusing, however, was the situation itself. As with the strix at the very beginning of term, Merlin came out of the incident with a distinct blow to his barely repaired confidence in Hogwarts' staff. Twice something had flown beneath their collective radar, twice potential disaster could have struck, and Merlin was left with one of two frightening considerations.

One, that perhaps professors were truly incapable of protecting the wellbeing of their students. Merlin didn't like to think that, what with Gaius and Alice both as members of that staff, but he had to admit the evidence wasn't particularly favourable.

Or two, that perhaps those he'd seen and been involved in were only the tip of the iceberg for a whole glacier of issues kept under wraps and out of sight. Merlin knew that, even in his small, sedate town of Ealdor, magic had frequently been cause for discord, confusion and near-disaster. Maybe he just wasn't aware of them?

He wasn't sure which possibility was the more terrifying.

 _At least no one has died yet,_ he thought as he went up to the Hospital Wing for his usual weekend visit with Gaius _._ Just the thought itself, however, carried ominous connotations. Was the absence of a death really considered a positive?

Maybe he needed to sort out his priorities.


	6. Lancelot Dulac

                                                                        

Shifting in his seat on the faintly damp grass, Merlin extended a hand with pointed finger towards the little blue daisies once more. They were the last of the season, petals beginning to droop slightly and black eyes bereft of most if not all of their pollen.

With an inhalation, he drew upon the patiently waiting tendrils of his magic, swirling just beneath the surface of his skin, and murmured, _"Lepidoptera_."

The flowers quivered, trembling as though shaken at the stem by an eager child. Then, petals folding and the black eye at the centre of each flower elongating, the flower heads morphed and shifted into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Their wings fluttered faintly, briefly, leaning in an attempt for each to maintain their seat upon the headless stem of the flowers. They waited.

Grinning, an upwelling of pride swelled through Merlin at his success. _Eighteenth time lucky_ , he thought, and didn't even feel resentful for the fact that it had taken him so many attempts that morning. He'd managed it, the delicately complex Charm that Dame Catrina had given him, the charm that she'd claimed was high fourth year if not low fifth year coursework. An essentially useless charm, except for the fact that it was _hard._ It required intense concentration and a delicate, dextrous touch.

And Merlin had managed it. Wandlessly.

Fighting back the urge to giggle with delight, he pointed his finger once more. _"Surganti_."

As though they had been waiting for his direction, the butterflies, as one and in perfect synchrony, launched themselves from their flower stems and fluttered into the air. From Merlin's lap, Zee pounced after them, leaping into the air with childish glee and stretching her paws as though straining to catch them. She seemed more like a puppy than a rat. Merlin's grin only widened at her antics.

                                        

He watched as the kaleidoscope rose, cocking his head as the swirl of transfigured flowers caught on the breeze and was swept away. Merlin was not particularly good with essay writing. He had an atrocious hand for the quill and couldn't seem to concentrate upon completing a report to save himself. But this? Gentle manipulation of the magic that flowed through him like his own blood? This was easy.

 _Well, maybe not easy, but easier than writing a foot of parchment,_ he thought to himself as he picked himself up from his ground and, stooping to collect the scampering Zee, turned away from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was a glorious day, warm for so late in October, and Merlin was making the most of it while it lasted. Scotland was colder than Ealdor, southern Ireland maintaining its warmth just a little better than did the higher reaches of the United Kingdoms. Merlin was not averse to the cold – if anything, it simply reminded him of his magic – but neither was he particularly keen to throw himself into snowfall and chill, to suffer for a touch of heatless winter sunlight. He would take what he could get before the seasons turned once more.

Merlin's little seat by the Forbidden Forest, in a slight bay that was half ringed by trees but not technically _in_ the forest, had become something of a sanctuary for him. When he wasn't with Gwen, when he was free from classes and blessedly up to date with his homework, Merlin would take himself down to the bay and just sit. Or practice magic, which never really felt like homework anyway. Especially not when he did so wandlessly. It felt as natural as breathing, even if he did struggle to get the enchantments exactly right more often than not.

That morning, he'd taken himself down to the forest when Gwen had been absent from breakfast and it had been too early to go and visit Gaius. He'd learned not to visit his uncle too promptly; the one time he'd arrived before nine o'clock on a Saturday morning Gaius had chased him from his rooms brandishing his wand and exclaiming about "respecting his elders" and that "some people need more than a wink of sleep, Merlin!" He hadn't made the same mistake twice.

The bay was quiet. Distant enough from the school that Merlin couldn't hear the chatter of his fellow students that rung about the courtyard as they sought their own rays of sunshine. Similarly, it was far enough away from Seward's cottage and his magical creatures coops that the natural hush of swishing leaves and chirping birds wasn't disturbed by clucking and snorting, neighing and screeching. Merlin didn't dislike the Magical Creatures professor – far from his initial dubiousness for Seward's capacities after the incident with the strix, he found he actually quite liked his bluntness and down-to-earth attitude – but it was nice to have a little peace sometimes. He'd had enough difficulty being completely alone in the nearly two months he'd been at Hogwarts as it was, something that was unfamiliar to Merlin after his relative solitude back home.

Merlin took every opportunity to wander on down to the forest to think. To consider and to ponder. And to reflect upon what a complete change his life had undertaken in recent months. As he'd grown accustomed to Hogwarts life, to being in constant company, the entire experience had been far less confronting and overwhelming. When Merlin had finally acquainted himself with the general layout of the school, it had been made even less so; he still wondered as to the practicality of absenting maps from the general equipment afforded to new students, but felt it wasn't his place to comment on the fact. Easing into comfort was certainly one way of putting it.

More importantly than simple comfort, however, Merlin found he was enjoying himself. A big part of that he had to admit had to do with Gwen and her unwavering friendship, but there were other parts too. The practicing of magic, most prominently, which so vastly outweighed the frequency with which he'd been permitted to use it back in Ealdor that is was nigh incomparable. It came even more easily to him now, the icy tingle of his magic waiting just out of sight and ready to spring forth at a moment's notice.

There were the downsides of school life too, of course – some of the professors for one, as well as the homework, the rigidity of the routine which he still found tiresome at times, his housemates who, though agreeable enough, Merlin would hardly consider to be more than superficial friends – but they were surprisingly easy to overlook. Even the less agreeable individuals of his cohort weren't quite so distressing in their very presence as they had once been.

Specifically, Arthur Pendragon.

Oh, he still scowled. He still watched Merlin with the intensity of an astronomer peering through a telescope at times. And he still seemed to find amusement when Merlin asked a question in class that was "so obvious" that it provoked snickers from his fellows, though Gwen admitted such questions wouldn't be obvious if someone had undergone such a cut-and-dry education.

But even with all of that, those scowls didn't seem to have as much heat to them. When Merlin caught his eye and Arthur glared momentarily before turning away, it seemed more as though he actively forced himself to assume an expression of dislike rather than naturally adopting it. To Merlin at least, that realisation felt like a small triumph. He was even, in some ways, more agreeable than people like Michael Morris; though not particularly concerning, Merlin still found it slightly unnerving that the Ravenclaw boy seemed to persist in his resentment for something that Merlin still maintained had been an effort to help the other boy. He'd _tried_ to defend him from what he'd seen as bullying; surely Michael could see that, couldn't he? True, it hadn't actually helped, but surely the thought counted, didn't it? Even just a little bit?

Merlin lifted his gaze from his feet, from the gradual sloping of the grounds, as the sound of distant laughter trickled into his ears. No other wanderers were in sight yet, the sound tumbling down the hill from the castle's perch atop it and echoing and rebounding with its passage. Merlin wasn't surprised by his solidarity; most people slept in on the weekend, as had Merlin at first when recovering from the exhaustion of beginning school. He'd fallen back into his early rising habits quickly enough, however, and found the relative peace of minimal familiar strangers who shared no interest in talking to be rather liberating.

Mostly strangers, anyway. As Merlin trudged past the quidditch pitch, he felt his gaze drawn to the graceful sight of a figure flying high overhead, arcing in circles overhead. Some people were less than strangers simply by chance, he reasoned, pausing in step to turn his gaze upwards. The Hufflepuff boy was one such person.

Merlin wasn't interested in flying on brooms. Not at all. He was less interested in quidditch, something that he had discovered to their mutual delight that he shared with Gwen at least in part. But even he could appreciate skilled flying when he saw it.

The Hufflepuff boy, as far as Merlin could tell, spent every morning he could on the quidditch pitch. He used a school broom, but to look at him none would have picked him to be using inferior equipment. The way he dove and swooped, coiling in corkscrews and dropping before scaling once more, seemed as natural as a bird in flight. The first time he'd seen him, Merlin had actually found himself captivated by the sight of someone flying. There was no denying the boy was skilled, and Merlin would have readily told him as much had he ever met him on solid ground rather than simply observing him from a distance below. He didn't know who he was but for his house by the colours on his robes. He didn't even know if he was on the quidditch team at all, let alone if he wished to talk to Merlin who was, he admitted, probably one of the people least inclined to sling himself over a broom. Least inclined _in the_ _whole world_.

Still, each and every time he saw him, every time he passed the quidditch pitch of a Saturday morning and saw the distinctive figure swooping and gliding like an eagle, Merlin would pause in step and watch. Just for a moment. Just to appreciate his elegance and skill, because that was clearly what it -

"Oi! Off the pitch! We've booked it for practice this morning!"

Whipping his head around to the sound of the voice, Merlin was shaken from his silent appreciation. Immediately, his good humour dimmed and he hands grip tighter around Zee in vexation as he watched the Gryffindor quidditch team stride onto the pitch. Resplendent in royal red and golden trim, they struck a handsome, contrasting image to the washed out autumnal scenery, starkly apparent upon the wilting grass of the pitch. Each of the seven of them walked with the grounded confidence of athletes comfortable in their movements. Broomsticks were slung casually over shoulders and each had their gazes upturned towards the Hufflepuff boy as he paused in his headlong, dancing flight and tipped his own broom forwards to descend.

Merlin didn't even realise he was starting towards the group of them until he was halfway there. As the Hufflepuff boy touched to the ground with more grace than Merlin had even done anything in his life, they spread out in what could justifiably be considered an imposing front. Merlin found his step picking up to a trot as the muted conversation struck up between them. He clutched Zee to his chest as he stepped onto the pitch and hastened towards the party.

"… don't think we don't know. We'll not have any spies peeking in on our practices this year," the captain, Bedivere, was saying. He was a tall boy, broad with impressive musculature for a seventeen year old, and his heavy brows were drawn down over his eyes as he stared heatedly at the Hufflepuff boy. "You can tell Griffin that she needs to pull her head in; I won't be fooled by the supposed innocence of a third year." The agreeing nods of several of his teammates, behind him added to the sentiment. Merlin had to fight not to roll his eyes when he noticed that Arthur Pendragon – naturally, he and his friends simply _had_ to be on the quidditch team – was one of them. Though, admittedly, he wasn't quite as fervent in his agreement as the two older girls on either side of him appeared to be.

The Hufflepuff boy didn't respond immediately, simply peering up at Bedivere with a closed expression. For the first time, Merlin got a chance to really look at him, to recognise him as a boy from his own year. A slender boy, of middling height just a little shorter than Merlin himself and prominently Spanish descent, his dark eyes holding a solemnity that looked far too mature for him. That solemnity was mirrored in his expression; downturned lips pressed firmly together, the faint crease in his brow, the distinctive tuck of his chin that let his dark hair flop across his forehead in a concealing manner.

Lancelot Dulac, Merlin recalled his name to be. And he was almost like the ghost of third year for all that his drifted about almost undetectably.

"I'm not trying to spy on you," he finally said, his voice quiet, calm and composed. There was a slight accent to his words, the syllables coming shorter and more distinct. "I doubt that Griffin even knows that I come down here to fly."

"If you're not here to spy, then why do you always just _happen_ to be here whenever we have a practice booked," one of the Gryffindors, a short girl with a bushy head of cropped curls, growled with what Merlin considered to be excessive aggression.

He could have answered her readily enough. He could have told her that the reason for such apparent happenstance lay not in that Lancelot synced his times specifically to the training sessions of the Gryffindors but that he was simply _always_ down at the quidditch pitch of a morning. More than just Saturday mornings too, Merlin had noticed. He didn't get the chance to, however, as when he slowed to a stop a handful of steps from the confrontation, Lancelot was already replying.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even realise that you had practice this morning. I'll try to make sure that I'm off the pitch before you get down here next time."

"You really expect us to believe that?" The same girl said with a huff of disgruntlement. "We know what Griffin did last year. How could we possibly believe your words?"

"I could vouch for him," Merlin spoke up before he considered the sense in interrupting the brewing argument. "I bet he didn't know and that it was just a coincidence. You know he's down here pretty much every morning."

As one, every single head turned towards him. Merlin beheld the confusion in Lancelot's eyes in the same moment that he saw it in Bedivere's and in the rest of the team, the confusion that faded to varying degrees of irritation or curiosity. De Grace was the only one who seemed even mildly welcoming of his presence, offering a hint of a smile, while Arthur… naturally, Arthur stared at him with his usual intensity before appearing to remind himself of how he was _supposed_ to respond and adopting a scowl. Merlin bit back the urge to snort his amusement at the familiar display.

Captain Bedivere's surprise was one of those that grew into irritation. "What are you doing here, Emrys? This no business of someone like _you_." The unspoken "Slytherin _"_ was likely heard by everyone there. Merlin didn't know why but the Gryffindors in particular seemed to so adamantly pursue the rivalry between houses, but if he needed evidence of his suspicion if was very much afforded to him in that moment.

He had to bite back a cringe at Bedivere's words, as much because of the tone as the sentiment. Not only did he dislike being so labelled for the house that he didn't feel particularly attached to but it unnerved him how people he'd never spoken directly to before knew his name. He shrugged with forced casualness. "I just don't think it's really fair to accuse someone of something they haven't done, is all. Calling someone a spy is a pretty unrealistic accusation."

"And how do you know he isn't?" The curly haired girl asked, glaring at him with a curl of her lips reminiscent to that Arthur wore. Merlin fancied that he thought hers more genuine, however, and had to wonder at that.

"I'm pretty sure I just told you why."

"Well, how do we know that you're not just a spy, too? Maybe you two are banding together against Gryffindor." The other girl, her voice as sharp as the blade of her pointed nose, sniffed pompously as she deliberately planted her broomstick onto the ground before her. "I would expect nothing less of a Slytherin."

Merlin bit back a sigh, his eyes rising briefly to the sky in exasperation. "I think you overestimate my skills as an undercover agent."

To his surprise, his words were met by a hastily muffled chuckle. His gaze flickered to De Grace – De Grace, who seemed to have taken a liking to him since the incident with the Shrinking Solution weeks before – and he was surprised to note that his wasn't the only face who wore a faint smile. Gwen's brother had his head bowed with amusement just visible on his lips, while the big boy, Legaloise, was gradually assuming a smile of his own. Most surprisingly of all, however, Arthur was… no, he wasn't smiling, but no longer was he glaring either. If anything, he appeared on the verge of nodding in agreement to Merlin's words.

"It's true," he murmured, barely audibly. His voice was thoughtful, considering rather than snide. "I seriously doubt that Emrys has the ability to do anything stealthily. He'd be just as likely to trip over his own feet and fall on his face."

Merlin blinked at him. He didn't know whether to be reassured or offended by the words, so settled for ignoring them entirely.

The three older Gryffindors snapped sidelong glances at their juniors and each adopted reprimanding scowls that quickly quelled the amusement bubbling in the air. Well, except for that of Legaloise, but Merlin had gradually developed the impression that Legaloise resembled a boulder in more than just his stature; he appeared unlikely to budge from his inclinations for anything.

Bedivere slowly turned his stare back towards Merlin. It was aggressive in a way that Merlin considered a little excessive given the circumstances, though he had almost come to expect as much from quidditch players. They seemed to consider anything pertaining to the sport to be of direst importance. "If you're not here to spy, what do you want?"

Merlin glanced towards Lancelot briefly, who met his gaze with continued confusion. _Well, at least he's not the centre of attention anymore_. "I just thought it seemed a bit unfair that you were accusing someone of something that they didn't do."

"And you'd know all about fairness would you, Slytherin?" the sharp-nosed girl asked coldly.

"I like to think I have a working knowledge, yeah."

"Yeah, right," the curly-haired girl said. "Slytherin's don't know how to act in any way but underhanded and backstabbing."

"I think that's a bit of a generalisation," Merlin murmured. "I personally prefer to stab in the front with an overhanded jab."

Legaloise was the only one that laughed that time, even if De Grace did appear caught somewhere between amusement and mortification. Merlin appreciated both nonetheless, as much for the attention he briefly gained from the rest of his teams as anything.

Bedivere's scowl only deepened as he drew his gaze from the third years once more. He took a slow, deliberate step forwards. Merlin was suddenly very aware of how tall he was. Merlin wasn't short himself, but the older boy seemed to tower over him, even from three steps away. "Listen, Emrys, I'm only going to tell you this once. Butt. Out. It's _none your business_." He stared at Merlin fixedly for a moment, eyes narrowing. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt this time because you seemed like a decent enough kid for a Slytherin, what with what happened with the poisoned pumpkin juice and everything, but from now on, steer clear of our training sessions. Don't tempt fate."

"But what else am I going to do with my time?" Merlin asked before he could help himself. And even as he cursed his wagging tongue and fought to clamp his lips closed, he continued. "I just don't think it's fair that a bunch of prats gang up someone younger than them to judge him and pick on him for enjoying himself."

The smouldering expression on Bedivere's face could have sparked a flame. A grumbling growl from over his shoulder suggested the feeling was shared by at least some of his teammates. "What did you just call me?"

Blessedly, Merlin finally seemed capable of biting back the words that threatened to tumble from his lips. Enough at least that he didn't take Bedivere up on his question and repeat what, he did in fact realise, was an insult. Clutching Zee more closely into his chest, he took half a step backwards. "Um… I think we might leave it at that. I feel like we've both learned something here today," _yeah, don't poke the agitated wolf with a stick unless you want it to turn around and bite you,_ "and we're probably all better off for it. I think I'll just… go." He deliberately leaned around Bedivere to glance at Lancelot, meeting his wide, dark stare. "Did you want to come?"

It was the right thing to do because, however briefly, Bedivere's attention – and that of everybody else in the quidditch team's – momentarily swung back towards the Hufflepuff boy. He glanced at them in return, his expression still solemn, before nodding. He even bowed his head slightly to the team at large as he hefted his broom. "Sorry for the confusion. I'll try and time my flying better in future." And he fell alongside Merlin's as they hastened off the pitch.

They'd both taken barely a dozen steps towards the edge of the field before a call halted them in step. Well, it halted Lancelot anyway. Merlin would have been content to simply ignore Arthur's call for attention, but he felt obliged to wait for Lancelot after suggesting they leave together.

Glancing over his shoulder, he observed Arthur staring with his intense curiosity at Lancelot. It was strange to observe the expression when it wasn't directed towards Merlin; he saw levels of calculation, of consideration and speculation, that he hadn't known was present before.

"Yes?" Lancelot asked, with that tone of solemn politeness that seemed to be characteristic of him.

Arthur didn't spare a moment for his friends, for his teammates, as they glanced over their shoulders in their continued progression onto the quidditch pitch. Instead, he folded his arms – rather awkwardly with his broomstick still in hand – and frowned thoughtfully. "You're a good flyer. Anyone could see that. And you obviously enjoy flying." He paused for a moment before shrugging. "You should try out for your quidditch team. They'd be lucky to have you, and I would certainly be interested in playing against you on the field."

Merlin blinked. And blinked again. Arthur sounded almost… kind. No, kind was to small a word for Arthur, too narrow, even if it was relevant. Generous, contemplative and satisfied perhaps better fit him, although Merlin would never had considered any of those words to suit the Gryffindor boy before. It was as though he'd opened a door, revealed another side to himself that Merlin hadn't realised existed. Hadn't realised was capable of existing.

Lancelot didn't appear half as surprised as Merlin himself. Or maybe he just concealed it better. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "I appreciate the compliment, but I doubt that's going to happen."

Arthur pursed his lips and frowned briefly. Then he shook his head and turned away. "Well, it's your decision. Your loss." And without another word he turned and jogged after his teammates. Soon, the sound of Gryffindor exaltations, laughter and teasing banter rung across the pitch.

Shaking his head, Merlin turned away from them and jerked his head towards Lancelot with a suggested, "Come on." They continued their departure in silence.

That silence ensued with more companionability than Merlin would have thought possible to hold with a relative stranger. He knew himself well enough to know that conversation came easily to him, and he often felt the need to flood the silence with words for no other reason than that it felt better to fill the space between too people with voices rather than static to ensue. But Lancelot evidently didn't, and Merlin surprisingly didn't feel the need to immediately smother the quietness of his downcast thoughtfulness.

They were nearly at the school by the time he finally did speak. It only happened at all because curiosity got the better of him and he wanted to take the opportunity to ask when it presented itself. Lancelot didn't appear to be the sort of person to interact much with those around him, not in class or out of it from what minimal notice Merlin had afforded him, and he wasn't sure if that was a personal preference or simply circumstantial.

"You are a good flyer," he began, slowing his step.

Lancelot, glancing at him sidelong with a faintly curious expression, slowed alongside him. "Thank you." He more grateful for the compliment for the intention behind the words rather than the words themselves. As though those words were hardly even relevant to him.

Merlin frowned, biting his lip. How to phrase this without sounding like the intrusive stickybeak that he admittedly was? "I've seen you a couple of times and I actually mean it. Seriously. You _are_ good. I was just wondering… why don't you join the quidditch team? Do you just not like the sport?"

Merlin could understand that; why did someone have to enjoy quidditch if they liked flying? Merlin certainly didn't like writing essays on magical theory even though he enjoyed learning about magic itself.

But Lancelot was shaking his head. "It's not that I don't like quidditch. I actually do; I like it a lot, even though I haven't played it. I just doubt that I'd make it onto the team."

Merlin felt his eyebrows rise incredulously. "Are you serious? Why wouldn't you get on the team? If Arthur Pendragon thinks you're good then surely the rest of the world does. Everyone knows that everything he touches turns to glary, spangled gold."

Lancelot smiled for the first time at that. It was a small smile, little more than a faint curling of his lips, but it lit up his face exponentially. "Yes, I've noticed that. Pendragon does seem to walk on water a little bit, doesn't he?"

"I'm not sure if it's a product of being a pretentious Gryffindor or a stuck up pureblood," Merlin wondered.

"Maybe a little bit of both?" Lancelot suggested. "Although, not all Gryffindors are pretentious and not all purebloods are stuck up, you know."

Merlin turned a considering gaze upon Lancelot. He felt as though, even after such a short time of talking to him, he was gradually putting the pieces of his character together and was coming to the realisation of why Lancelot acted the way he did. Why he spent his time alone. He was certainly nice enough to be liked, was excessively polite and appeared to be the sort of person who wouldn't speak a bad word about anyone. But he was reserved and quiet; Merlin could almost see the invisible wall he'd erected around himself that was evidently installed to deter anyone from getting too close. Merlin had to wonder as to what had urged him to build it in the first place.

"You're avoiding my question," Merlin pointed out. "Why don't you think you'd get on the quidditch team? If, you know, you don't mind me asking."

Lancelot dropped his eyes to the broomstick in his hand. Merlin recognised it as a Cleansweep, one of the earlier models, only because he'd spent enough with Will's broomstick-making father to be able to identify it. He stroked his fingers down the polished wood silently for a moment before answering. "I don't mind you asking. It's just that I feel I would sound self-pitying in saying the reason."

Merlin clicked his tongue. "Lancelot, I've spoken to you for all of two minutes and I can pretty much say for sure that I don't think you could ever sound self-pitying."

That small smile returned to Lancelot's lips, the tightness of his expression easing slightly. Merlin congratulated himself on a job well done. "Alright, then. Mostly, I think that me being a Muggleborn might make the Hufflepuff team be less keen to recruit me –"

"What?" Merlin blurted out in an interruption that he hardly even considered as being rude. "Because you're Muggleborn? That's an absolutely stupid reason not to put you on the team. Why would you think they'd think that?"

Lancelot slowly raised his gaze to meet Merlin's. When he frowned, it seemed more regretful than annoyed. Or rather, it lacked any of the annoyance Merlin had expected at all. "You really haven't been around mixed blood settings very much, have you?"

Frowning himself, Merlin considered. No, he realised, he hadn't. It was true that most of Ealdor was composed of half-bloods, with the only pureblood family present in the elderly and childless figure of Old Maid Warmspur. Merlin's father, Balinor – long gone and dead – had been the only other pureblood in town, but he had been far removed from the attitude that Merlin was vaguely aware was instilled in most purebloods from an early age. He'd married the daughter of a Muggleborn, after all. If the minimal stories that Merlin had heard of him in dribs and drabs were anything to go by, that subversion of attitudes was characteristic of his father.

Upon thought, Merlin considered that perhaps Ealdor might be the exception rather than the norm. At least, that seemed to be what Lancelot was suggesting. "Are people at Hogwarts really so likely to shun you because you're a Muggleborn?" He asked, his voice subdued.

Lancelot, with barely a tinge of regret, merely shrugged. "I think shun is a hard word. I don't think I am, not really. I mean, there are people who think I'm not as knowledgeable – as them because I've missed out on a childhood with magic, but I can't really disagree with that. It's true, after all."

 _Less knowledgeable or less intelligent_ , Merlin wondered, but didn't ask it aloud. "And you think that the captain of your team – what was it, Griffin? – wouldn't let you on the team because of that? Because you're a Muggleborn?"

Giving another small shrug, Lancelot nodded. "I don't really blame her; Griffin basically grew up on a broom. She must be a bit doubtful of the skills of anyone who hadn't done the same."

"Has she even seen you fly?"

"No, but –"

"Then she's obviously an idiot," Merlin overrode him, frowning and plucking at the tufted fur on Zee's head in irritation. Zee squeaked her commiseration. "And unfair. Aren't Hufflepuff's supposed to be just and all that?"

"I think that's a bit of a generalisation," Lancelot replied with another small smile that was just faintly suggestive. It took Merlin a moment to realise that he was mimicking his words from earlier.

He gave a smile in return. Gesturing towards the school, he urged them to pick up their pace once more. "Have you had breakfast already? Want to head down to the Great Hall?"

Lancelot made a gesture of his own with his broomstick. "I've got to put this away first, but after that, sure." He paused, mouth hanging open silently for a moment before appearing to reconsider. "I mean, if you want to. If you don't mind going with me. I won't be upset or anything if you'd rather just go by yourself. You don't have to feel obliged."

 _Ah. Here we go. This must be why he doesn't seem to have friends_. Merlin wondered how many people had attempted – he was sure Gwen must have – but had been deterred by Lancelot's deflection. It was obvious to Merlin that, as much as the stuck up purebloods of the school ostracised him for his Muggleborn status, he did so to himself as well. Why, Merlin wasn't sure. He hoped it wasn't because Lancelot thought they were right in their sentiment.

"Of course I want to," Merlin said with a smile that he worried for a moment might have seemed overly bright. His words echoed slightly as they passed across the front courtyard and entered the high-ceilinged Entrance Hall. "Why wouldn't I?"

The sidelong glance Lancelot gave him suggested he was at least partially privy to Merlin's thoughts. He gave another small smile of his own, however. "Alright then." He paused in step a second later, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry, we were never properly introduced ourselves before. "You're Emrys, right?"

"Merlin," he corrected. "And you're Lancelot, yeah?" He extended a hand towards Lancelot, awkwardly shifting a disgruntled, squirming Zee who squeaked her indignation at her jostling.

Lancelot adjusted his own hold on his broom and grasped it. Only for his attention to drop to Zee with a startled blink. "You have a rat."

Merlin glanced down towards and met Zee's beady black eyes. He could have sworn she shook her head in exasperation at the obvious statement. He raised his gaze back to Lancelot a moment later, smirking. "You have exceptionally keen observation skills, Lancelot. I can tell we'll get along swimmingly.

Lancelot blinked at him blankly for a moment and, briefly, Merlin wondered if perhaps he'd pushed him too far too soon. After all, he didn't really know the Hufflepuff boy at all, didn't know if his sense of humour really nor if he was receptive to teasing.

But then that small smile tweaked upon Lancelot's lips, seemingly illuminated in blossoming merriment from deep within. He gave Merlin's hand, still clasped in his own, a slight squeeze. "Yes. I think we will, Merlin."

* * *

 

"Hey," Gwen flicked at the end of Merlin's quill. "Concentrate."

"I am concentrating."

Leaning into him, Gwen peered over Merlin's shoulder to better see the scratchings he was marking into his parchment. The corner of the library they'd secreted themselves into was quiet enough that, when she gave an exasperated sigh, it seemed to echo through the silence. With a disapproving hum, she pinched him on the arm sharply.

"Ow."

"That didn't hurt," she said, completely unrepentant. "And you deserved it. What happened to your CMC essay?"

"It's right there."

"Three lines isn't an essay, Merlin."

"It's the start of one."

"But not the whole of one. And what part of your drawings, pray tell, is relevant to this homework exactly?"

Leaning back in his seat, Merlin cocked his head as he peered at his depiction of a hippogriff. He tapped the faintly wet ink with a finger, releasing a pulse of magic to a muttered " _Animare_." The inked creature shuddered as though ridding itself of water, snapping its beak and stretched its wings as it set off at a loping canter around the border of his page. "Well, we are studying hippogriffs at the moment. I think Seward would appreciate my artistry, don't you? Its anatomical correctness deserves some recognition, doesn't it? A mark or two at least, I'd say."

"It is very cute," Sefa murmured from across the table. Merlin appreciated her words even though he knew for a fact that she hadn't glanced up from her own homework once.

Gwen, heaving another sigh, slumped back into her own seat. She shook her head with mock sorrow. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Write my essay for me?"

"I don't even take CMC."

"I'd bet you'd still make a better job of my hippogriff essay than I would."

"Definitely," Sefa murmured, and all appreciation Merlin felt for her input vanished once more. She wasn't supposed to agree quite so readily.

Shaking her head once more, Gwen picked up her quill. She dipped the nib into her inkwell before dropping her attention once more to her parchment. Her own essay, for Arithmancy, was nearly two feet long already. Writing as she spoke – a skill that Merlin heartily admired – she said, "I'm just trying to be the voice of reason, Merlin. You'll appreciate it on the weekend when you've got less homework to do."

"Most likely," Merlin agreed, tapping the feather of his own quill upon his parchment as he watched the hippogriff spring into the 'air' and swooping in arcs and tumbling rings across the parchment. "But I'll appreciate it _now_ when I'm not doing it."

Gwen mumbled something under her breath that Merlin ignored. He didn't even feel terribly guilty about it; yes, he probably should have been working – there was still nearly half an hour until dinner – but he'd already completed both his DADA and his Astronomy homework that afternoon and felt quite satisfied with his work. Besides, the CMC essay wasn't due for another week yet. Gwen, he had surprisingly come to realise, had the effect upon him whereby he felt guilt-tripped into completing his homework with days to spare. He was actually almost organised because of her incessant reminders.

 _Still_ , _I think I've worked enough for today,_ he thought, dropping his quill to the table. His eyes were beginning to feel strained in the dying sun's illumination as it peering through the window behind them, the faded light not quite adequately compensated for by the enclosed lamps that sprung into existence as the shadows lengthened. Though he had been required to read in the past, the memories of studying textbooks after textbooks, of recalling the information to relay verbally to his mother and impress upon her that he did, in fact, understand at least a little of what he was absorbing, didn't assist with his favourable outlook towards books in general.

In fact, the only books that he truly became engrossed in were those that outlined and detailed spells themselves. For whatever reason, he seemed capable of racing through those books, the information just sticking in his mind somehow. Unlike most of the theory from his actual class textbooks.

 _Why I decided to take three electives will always be a mystery to me,_ he thought to himself. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time – Divination was something he'd heard about, was sceptical of, but interested in enough to pursue, and CMC and Muggle Studies both was certainly hands on enough at times – but that was _before_ he'd become familiar with the horror of institutional homework schemes.

He'd have to drop one. Surely, no one in their right mind would sign themselves up for _more_ homework than they absolutely had to do.

Lengthening his legs out beneath the table, Merlin raised his arms overhead and stretched with a groan. It was likely because he leaned so far back in his chair that he almost tumbled backwards to the floor that he saw Lancelot at all. Craning his neck, he watched as the Hufflepuff boy, head bowed over a thick book in his hands, disappeared down a distant aisle. He moved nearly as silently as the ghost Merlin had considered him before. Merlin felt validated in his comparison for the fair share of ghosts he'd encountered over the past months and avoided them like the plague for the sharply curious gaze they affixed him with. Weirdly fixated, he'd noticed; they seemed far too curious about him for reasons he didn't like to contemplate.

Clambering from his seat, Merlin hastened in the direction Lancelot disappeared.

"Where are you going, Merlin?" Gwen called quietly after him.

"Won't be a second," he replied by way of an explanation, and dove between the towering bookshelves in Lancelot's wake.

The library was a haven for students. Merlin was fairly certain that it carried at least one book for every subject even vaguely related to magic that had ever existed, from nursery rhymes to collections of scholarly research papers. Tomes and vellum-wrapped novellas, dusty scrolls and framed maps, endless rows of nearly identical books stacked impossibly tightly against one another and layered in rows and rows that extended nearly to the distant ceiling overhead. The library itself was a labyrinth of bookshelves interspersed with tables and chairs and carried a distinctly dusty smell that seemed to lather the air like a perfume.

As Merlin made his way between the shelves, he edged past Professor Geoffrey. The librarian, a stooped man of grey hair, thick beard and kindly eyes, was a good friend of Gaius' and seemed to extend that friendship at least in part towards Merlin. Initially, Merlin had been wary of the man for the apparent harshness of his words, but had long since discovered that such coarseness was rather the form his dry wit assumed. Since such a realisation, Merlin felt they had reached a far easier acquaintanceship.

Geoffrey nodded and gave him a small smile as he passed, which Merlin returned. "Are you alright, Merlin?" He asked. "Did you need help looking for something?"

Merlin shook his head. Another thing he liked about Geoffrey: he called him by his first name rather than 'Emrys'. Such a small thing but it made a big difference. "No thank you, sir."

"Well, let me know. I've a whole restricted section of dangerous spell-working material that I can't share with you for you to pine over," he said with a completely straight face.

Merlin grinned. He was sure that at least some of Geoffrey's kindness towards him was a product of the first few weeks he'd spent buried in the library before he'd found his sanctuary in the Forbidden Forest-side bay. Geoffrey seemed to think that his eagerness to read spell-casting books extended to literature in general. Merlin didn't have the heart to correct him, though he supposed Geoffrey at least suspected given the genre of the recommendations he loaded upon Merlin at every opportunity. "I'll keep that in mind when I'm lying awake at night thinking about the wondrous depths of your library."

"See that you do," Geoffrey nodded and, wand waving to gather up a pile of discarded books, slipped past Merlin with a grumble of, "Is so hard to put my books _away_ ".

Merlin spotted Lancelot as he rounded the end of the aisle. The other boy appeared to actually be speaking to someone as he helped them replace a book on one of the higher low shelves. He had to stretch on his own toes to do so.

 _So like Lancelot,_ Merlin thought with fondness. _He's way too nice to absolutely everyone._ Merlin hadn't been on speaking terms with him for more than three days, and had spent barely any time with him but in passing for those days, but he had reached that conclusion at least. Lancelot _was_ too nice. It was almost a shame he was Muggleborn; Merlin himself didn't care a single bit for blood status, but it was unfair that such a kind, such a _good_ person, would feel the need to ostracise himself so much.

 _Well, this is where I come in_. _Gwen helped me when I needed it. It'll be like paying forward the favour._

Striding forward, Merlin adopted a friendly smile that fell to surprise when he noticed who it was that Lancelot helped. Freya glanced towards him through the stringy cords of her fringe, blinking wide-eyed for a moment before offering him her own customary thin smile. Always a smile, for whatever reason, though she'd always seemed disinclined towards anything more than that.

Glancing towards Lancelot as he dropped down from his tiptoes, he reaffixed his smile. "Hi, Lancelot."

Lancelot glance towards him. "Merlin. I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there."

"That's alright. I'm sneaky like that."

"Really?" Lancelot smiled in that small grin that Merlin considered with satisfaction might have been appearing more often of late. At least, it had from what he could see. "Because I thought you said just yesterday that for the first ten years of your life you never walked down a flight of stairs but simply fell down them."

Merlin brushed aside the reminder, pretending nonchalance to dissuade from the truth of the matter. "Lies. All lies to lull you into a false sense of security."

"A false sense of security? What for?"

"Well, you'd hardly think I was any kind of dangerous if I couldn't walk in a straight line without tripping over my own feet."

Lancelot laughed. It was a quiet laugh, small, just like his smile, but it danced merriment in his eyes and lit his features with genuine amusement. "It's certainly a very good act."

Glancing briefly towards Freya – the Slytherin girl was flickering her eyes between him and Lancelot with wary curiously – Merlin shrugged before affixing Lancelot with his attention once more. "Thank you. I try. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"I gathered that."

"Are you studying? Where abouts?"

Lancelot blinked at him for a moment before gesturing back in the opposite direction to that Merlin had followed him from. "I have my usual spot. I'm pretty sure Geoffrey keeps it for me especially; I think I've seen a plaque with my name on it at the desk before."

Merlin smirked. He doubted it, but wouldn't put it past Geoffrey to get his own kick of amusement from doing so. Shaking his head, he jerked a thumb back over his own shoulder. "Did you want to come and sit with me? Well, me and Gwen and Sefa. You know, pool the study juices and get the blood pumping in enthusiasm."

"All that jazz," Lancelot said with another smile. Then he frowned in faint concern. "Really? You actually want me to come and study with you?"

 _You have absolutely no self-esteem at all, do you, Lancelot?_ Merlin gave a mental shake of his head. How could he possibly not think that people would wish to spend time with him? "I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't mean it."

Lancelot stared at him for a moment. "Do you think Smith and Saffron would mind?"

"I have it on pretty good confidence that Gwen just about loves everyone and would welcome a troll to the study table so long as they showed an interest in study," Merlin said. He didn't mention Sefa not because her opinion didn't matter but simply because… well, at first he'd thought that she had disliked him and the attention Merlin drew from Gwen. Time had slowly dawned the reality upon him that he had been misguided; she didn't dislike him but simply didn't _anything_ him. Sefa seemed to withhold the inclination for an opinion until she had long considered the situation. Even then her interactions were minimal at best.

Slowly, hesitantly and then with more confidence, Lancelot nodded. His smile reappeared with just a hint of shyness to it. "Sure. I'd love to. I'll just go and get my books." He turned and hastened off through the library once more.

Merlin glanced towards Freya at his departure. She hadn't watched him leave but had instead maintained her stare of Merlin, dark eyes blinking slowly from behind her fringe. Merlin wasn't certain – perhaps she always looked like that – but he thought she looked a little pale. There was the evidence of faint smudges beneath her eyes that made him wonder if she was sick. A moment's thought recalled that she'd been absent from class in the last period the previous day so perhaps she was.

"You're can join us too if you'd like," Merlin offered.

Freya started slightly and blinked in a rapid, twitching flutter of her eyes that looked almost a spasm. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to speak. When she did, it was in a whispered, slightly strangled voice. "R-really? You… you r-really m-mean that?"

It was Merlin's turn to blink in surprise. She sounded entirely disbelieving, almost guarded, but more than that she seemed achingly hopeful, gushing excitedly and rapidly in spite of her stutter. That was unexpected. Merlin had had little to do with the third year girls in his own house – or in any house but Hufflepuff really – and had always considered that they simply didn't care to have a whole lot to do with him. He was fairly sure that Lamia didn't know he existed, that Eira considered him a simpleton for his home schooling, and that Forridel was obliviously inclined to adhere to the sentiments of her friends. Freya was different only in the fact that she offered him less than her derision, was even almost friendly when he smiled to her briefly across the room as they made eye contact, but that was all. He hadn't considered that she actually _wanted_ to speak to him.

What he saw now resembled, just a little bit, how Lancelot acted. More than that, he realised, it was sort of the same as the hesitancy that Merlin himself had felt.

With that thought in mind, Merlin smiled widely, hoping he seemed welcoming. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Freya's eyes shone. For a moment, Merlin thought the glassiness within them might dissolve into tears. Her thin shoulders rose slightly, trembling with the urge to hunch, but her thin smile grew upon her lips once more. When she nodded, it was with the eagerness of a child half her age and she seemed to positively radiate joy.

Merlin was caught between satisfaction and an upwelling of guilt. If he'd known she was so eager to spend time with someone, that she would so readily leap at the chance to _study_ with someone other than the Slytherin girls, he would have asked her to join him far sooner. His own hesitancy be damned.

Gwen was a bubble of enthusiasm herself when Merlin returned with Lancelot and Freya in tow. She hastily swept half of her books off the table to make room for them, and gushed and chattered and effectively verbally vomited her delight. Sefa, predictably, barely even looked up but to catch a glimpse of who it was that took a seat beside her. Merlin folded himself back into his seat beside Gwen with a smile upon his face. Satisfied? Yes, he was quite satisfied with himself.

They didn't get all that much work done in the end. At least none of them but Sefa did, and even she appeared slightly distracted by the animation that Gwen, ironically enough, spearheaded. Not a word of reprimand, not a scolding urge to continue with homework, was voiced as Gwen set about drawing first a politely standoffish Lancelot and then a shyly huddling Freya into conversation. The frequent glances she spared for Merlin suggested that for whatever reason she considered him to have gifted her the most wonderful present in the world.

They were nearly late for dinner for remaining so long in the library. It was Sefa – of course it was Sefa – who mentioned that they would have to move quickly if they actually wanted to get anything to eat at all, and as one they rose to make a move.

It was only halfway towards the Great Hall, when Sefa had surprisingly turned an attentive ear towards Freya as she spoke so lowly that the quiet girl almost couldn't be heard over Gwen's chatter that he was struck by a realisation.

"You take CMC, Lancelot?" Gwen asked, distracting him momentarily from his thoughts.

Lancelot nodded, sparing a glance for Merlin. "Yes, we're in the same class."

"You didn't tell me that, Merlin," Gwen said, blinking at him with a faint frown.

Merlin shrugged. "Should I have? There's only one CMC class. I'd have thought it was obvious."

"Well, _I_ didn't know who was in your class. I would have liked to have known," she muttered, before turning back to Lancelot with a widening smile. "Have you completed your hippogriff essay, Lancelot?"

Merlin groaned as Lancelot nodded. "Just about. Why?"

Gwen turned a pointedly raised eyebrow towards Merlin, smirking teasingly. "See? _Lancelot's_ finished his homework." She turned back to Lancelot. "Don't let him trick you into helping him finish it."

"Would I do that?" Merlin asked with mock affront.

"Of course you would. Merlin, I love you, I do, but you have to admit you'd walk through fire to avoid doing homework."

"Walking through fire isn't actually that painful," Merlin quipped in reply. Lancelot chuckled in genuine amusement, louder this time than Merlin had heard before. It had been getting increasingly so over the past few hours.

Gwen grinned up at the Hufflepuff boy, a touch of triumph in her eyes as there had been each time she'd seen Lancelot smile, each time she heard him laugh. Merlin had slowly deduced the reality of the situation: Gwen had tried. She'd tried to approach Lancelot, to befriend him and make him feel welcome at Hogwarts, even if they were in the same year and as new to everything as one another at first. Only it hadn't worked. Merlin didn't know why it had been so much more effective when he'd made an attempt, but it had. And Gwen, far from being resentful for the fact that Merlin had managed where she had failed, was delighted. And, oddly, apparently grateful, from the smile she sent Merlin's way every few minutes.

Linking her arm through his, Gwen set about engaging Lancelot in a jargon-rich discussion of Ancient Runes, the subject that both of them shared and, apparently, both of them excelled at. Lancelot, quite surprisingly, became almost animated as he fell into their discussion. Their voices, underlined by the whispers of Freya and Sefa walking behind them, rung from the stonewalls of the hallway as they passed, a merry accompaniment to dancing display of candlelight and shadows playing across the walls.

It was comfortable. It was warm, and natural, and easy. That was what Merlin had realised. And suddenly, in such a short time, even after spending only an evening with them all together, Merlin realised he'd found something of a group of friends.

They weren't Will. No, he wasn't as comfortable with them as he would have been with his mother, or his childhood friend. But it was so close as to be astounding.

For what felt like the first time since starting at Hogwarts, Merlin gave a small smile that was entirely – completely and utterly – heartfelt. The slight squeeze Gwen gave to his arm, the threading of her fingers around the crook of his elbow, told him that it hadn't gone unnoticed.


	7. A Valiant Attempt

                                                                        

Quidditch season was upon them and Merlin was immediately reminded of one of the many reasons he disliked the sport: the crazed excitement over a _sports match_ was absolutely exhausting to bear witness to. Especially when that excitement was as opposite to Merlin's own feelings on the matter as could be.

He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that by escaping the riot that had erupted in the common room he would avoid the mayhem entirely. What Merlin hadn't bargained upon was that, despite the first match of the season being between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the entirety of the school seemed to be caught up in the mania. Stepping into the Great Hall had been like falling into the common room once more, only three times louder.

Merlin exchanged a glance with Gwen as he passed her on his way to the Gryffindor table. She rolled her eyes before taking a deliberately bored chomp from her toast. She couldn't quite pull of the vague nonchalance that Sefa managed at her side, but Merlin admitted that she came close. Support her brother though she might, she was apparently incapable of extending that falsehood to encompass the sport in its entirety.

Swinging a leg over the bench beside Freya, Merlin reached for the stack of toast with one hand and the butter with the other. Freya glanced up at him briefly with her usual small, thin smile before turning back to her cereal. Since the week before, they had become partners of a sort in Slytherin house; Freya was quiet, and appeared almost too nervous to speak much of the time, but seemed to be attempting to embody the role of Merlin's shadow.

Merlin didn't find it annoying but more simply… baffling. He'd never had anyone want to be so undemanding yet constantly in his presence before, what with both Will and Gwen being avid talkers and his mother comfortably chatty in her own way. He'd never really spent all that much time with girls either, and wondered if this was what they were all like or if Freya was the exception. Given what he'd learned from his experience with Gwen and Sefa, the small, quiet girl did seem to be the outlier.

But no, it didn't bother him. Not really, given that she could hardly be seen as being a demand upon his attention. If anything, he considered her presence to be what it must be like to have a little sister. A quiet, unobtrusive but attentive little sister.

Merlin wasn't the only one who was surprised by Freya's behaviour. Cornelius had simply stared at the two of them for long, silent minutes when they'd first sat beside one another at the breakfast table. Finally, he'd shaken himself free of his stupor and demanded, "When did this happen? Are you two dating now then, are you?"

Freya had started so violently that she'd splashed the juice in her hands all over herself. Merlin hadn't been much better. "What? No! What would make you think that?" He'd asked as he helped Freya to mop herself up. After a moment, he cast a quick, wandless Cleaning Charm on her instead of struggling with the surplus of napkins she'd dragged into her lap.

Cornelius had glanced between the two of them suspiciously for a moment before shaking his head. "Whatever. Just let me know when it actually happens, okay?" He'd said as though he had a right to know. The words had left both Merlin and Freya flushing in mortification.

Merlin had struggled to look her in the face for half a day after that until, finally drawing upon what little courage for such situations he possessed, he'd whispered an apology to her that afternoon as they practiced their Enlargement Charms in Charms. "I'm sorry about what Cornelius said. It made things kind of awkward, didn't it?

Freya had nodded fervently at his side, her wide eyes fastening directly upon him for the first time since breakfast. "Y-yeah. Sorry t-t-too, it just feels r-really weird to think of you that way." She'd flushed slightly a moment later. "I'm s-s-sorry! I didn't m-mean to sound like I –"

"No, no, that's okay," Merlin had said with a gushing sigh of relief. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought it was weird."

"R-really weird."

"Really."

After that, they'd resolutely ignored Cornelius's daily question of "Are you two going out yet?" It was actually surprisingly easy to manage. Edwin, for his part, fluctuated between mild curiosity and evidently not caring, while Merlin wouldn't have put it past Gilli not to have noticed in the first place.

The Slytherin girls had been less neutral. After a day or two of frowning confusion that had given way to betrayed glares, they'd proceeded to ignore Freya entirely. More even than they did Merlin, if that was possible. Freya didn't seem to mind all that much, had even confessed to Merlin when he asked her about it that she found it sort of relieving.

"They n-never really l-l-liked me, I don't think. I'm p-pretty sure it was more just putting up with m-me." She shrugged. "They a-always used to tease me about my s-s-stutter."

Not for the first time, Merlin felt like kicking himself for not asking Freya to join him sooner. He could hardly blame her for the speed of her changing allegiances; he'd had enough experiences with bullying from the other children in Ealdor to know how relieving it was to find _some_ one who didn't see him as a target for spell practice and taunting.

As Merlin glanced up briefly from his breakfast at a particularly loud shout from Gryffindor table, he noticed the figure of Lancelot as he the Great Hall. He had been less immediate in his public display of friendship with the rest of them, seeming to think – or so Merlin understood it – that if any of them were to be seen with him would blacken their names. Merlin was pleased to notice that he barely hesitated as he made his way along the Hufflepuff table to seat himself besides Gwen. Gwen herself seemed to have made it her personal vendetta to drag him from his shell, just as she had with Merlin. She immediately dropped her attempt at bored nonchalance to strike up an animated conversation with him.

At least they were enjoying themselves. Very much so, in Gwen's case but then she always seemed to be bordering on ecstatic around Lancelot. For Merlin, it had been all of five minutes before he decided that he wanted out. It was the third time that someone tripped into him from behind that was the linchpin that pushed him over the edge. Nearly smacking his face into his cup with the force of the passing fourth year's stumble, he stood up with deliberate slowness, toast in hand, and took took his leave. Freya gave him a questioning glance, but he only rolled his eyes in response and she seemed to understand his reasoning well enough. Merlin wondered how she wasn't as affected by it.

As he made his way from the Great Hall, he deliberately avoided looking over at the Gryffindor table as he left the room. Last seen, the quidditch team were swamped beneath so many chattering admirers and supportive back-slaps that they could hardly be seen. It was a little sickening to behold, and he resolutely took his leave from the room before another explosion of excitement could buffet him to the floor.

Halfway back to the common room, Merlin found himself sighing in relief as the last of the noise finally vanished. Only to shift into a groan when he rounded another corner, paused in step and closing his eyes briefly in a struggle not to grumble imprecations. Down the end of the corridor, Peeves the leering poltergeist appeared to be singing a song of sorts as he bounced and bobbed in endless circles. In the midst of his circling, Beast, the caretaker's cat, watched him with unblinking yellow eyes. Her tail twitched dangerously each time he dangled a foot just slightly closer to her.

_"Sniffle, snuffle, little kitten,_

_Poke and prod till I get bitten!"_

Clicking his tongue, Merlin did an about turn and headed back in the direction he'd come. There were other ways to travel back to the Slytherin common room, but they were less direct. Still, they would certainly take far less time than had he attempted to skirt around Peeves; the poltergeist, Merlin had discovered, was quick to shift the focus of his taunting to any passer-by, his antics only quelled by the stern reprimand of Slytherin's ghost, the Bloody Baron. Unfortunately, his submission did not extend to the rest of Slytherin house. The sounds of his words, " _Itty bitty, bitey kitty!"_ were followed by a shriek and mad cackling as Merlin turned from the hall and down the adjacent passageway.

The corridors later, it was only by chance that he heard the murmured words before stumbling across the speakers. Nibbling his last bite of toast, he dusted off his hands as he neared the crossroads just before the hallway housing the common room. The sharp snap of words, followed by the hissing sound of deliberate whispering, slowed his step. Frowning, his admittedly foolishly incessant curiosity rising within him once more, Merlin edged towards the corner and peered around it.

Two boys, older, boys, stood nearly invisible in the shadows of the corridor, the length of hall largely unused and as such devoid of frequently placed torches. It was only when Merlin strained his ears – with the faint assistance of magic – that he could make out the words at all.

"… don't fucking care, Ewan. And it doesn't matter because _no one will find out_. Not if you keep your trap _shut._ "

"But what if they do? What if someone does finds out? We could be suspended for this sort of thing, Gordon. Or even worse than that, expelled. Do you really want to do that, in your last year, just so that you can win a quidditch match?"

Back pressed against the wall, Merlin frowned down at the floor, barely breathing for fear of being overheard. It took him a moment to identify who the two were that spoke, to recall them from the names that were spoken. Gordon Valiant and Ewan West. The captain of the Slytherin quidditch team and his Seeker. He immediately felt concern well within him; Merlin didn't know much about the older boys given that he strove to have as little to do with quidditch and its teams as possible, but their tone, the talk of expulsion, brought forth a shadow of foreboding. Something about the match? Something that they could get in trouble for?

Gordon continued after a spluttering hiss. "It's not just about the quidditch match, Ewan. It's _not_. It's about making that little shit Pendragon look like an idiot in front of his Daddy. Stuck up little bastard; ever since he joined the team two years ago the headmaster's been biased towards Gryffindor and you know it."

"It is a little unfair that he was allowed to join the team in first year," Ewan muttered in grumbling agreement. "But I don't think the headmaster's being biased in his reffing or anything –"

"Bloody hell, Ewan, would you shut up! Of course he's biased. How else would you explain them winning the last two cups?"

Ewan muttered something too low for even Merlin's faint Amplification Charm to catch. He did, however, hear the slight scuffle, the grunt that followed, and wondered if perhaps Gordon had physically lashed out at his teammate. He was just on the verge to stepping around the corner – he had a thing against bullying, even, or perhaps especially, between friends – but halted, tense, as Valiant spoke once more.

"Look, it's not like I plan on hurting the little tosser or anything. I just want us to shake things up a little bit. Give him a bit more of a challenge. It's a harmless charm, Ewan. I'm not an idiot to do something drastic." He paused, and Merlin was given the impression he was waiting for his friend to comment. He gave a grunt that was almost a growl. "Bloody hell, Ewan, it's not even going to make that much of a difference. They'll still have their chasers and their keeper to shoot and protect from goals. But the snitch will be ours. I just want to give him a little bit of what he deserves."

Ewan was silent for a moment longer before he hummed in a neutral sound that Gordon evidently took for acceptance from his somewhat relieved sigh. "How are you going to do it, then?" Ewan asked, tone still dubious.

"How are _we_ going to do it," Gordon emphasised. "We'll just get close enough to him to hit him without anyone noticing. Shouldn't be too hard; what's he going to do, avoid us the entire match?"

"I don't know, Gordon, it still seems risky. I don't want to get into any trouble or anything –"

"For Merlin's sake," Gordon barked, the abrupt loudness and undirected use of his name causing Merlin to jump. "Don't pussy out of this, Ewan. We've already talked about it, you know we've agreed…"

Merlin didn't hear anymore. Partially it was because his hearing, even with the spell's amplification, was distracted by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, the sweeping chill that brushed through him. More probably, however, it was because his feet had already taken off at a run back in the direction he'd come. Surprisingly, just as he had somehow managed in his mad dash from Alice's lab to the Great Hall with the poisoned pumpkin juice incident, he didn't stumble.

Not once.

* * *

 

The Gryffindors weren't in the Great Hall when Merlin skidded to a halt at the doors. They evidently hadn't left too long before, however, for the majority of the rest of the students still mulled around within, bellowing their excitement with more enthusiasm for nine o'clock on a Saturday morning than Merlin had ever seen any of them display.

He spun around the moment he registered his problem and took flight through the front doors of the castle instead. His breath was panting, his temples throbbing and concern rising with every instant as he contemplated the words of the two Slytherin boys. He barely paused to call an apology to two yelping girls as he nearly stumbled over them with his ploughing passage.

Merlin did trip. Once. Or nearly, as he slipped in his descent down the hill towards the quidditch pitch. It was likely more a product of his scanning his surroundings for the overly bright and eye-catching glimpse of the Gryffindor quidditch team's red robes. He released a panting gasp of relief, breath coming harder for his running, when he finally caught sight of them heading towards the change rooms – for what reason he didn't know given they were already dressed and apparently ready. He leapt after them with renewed vigour.

They were nearly through the door by the time Merlin was in calling distance. "Arthur. Arthur! Wait! Could you – just a second!"

As one, the quidditch team turned towards him. Their curious expressions largely changed to disgruntlement – or at least the three of the older students did. Arthur, De Grace, Legaloise and Gwen's brother each maintained their curiosity, visible in varying degrees.

Merlin nearly crashed into Arthur when he pulled up before him. Panting with hands dropped to knees and head bowed, he gasped for breath – he really should exercise more; this was just ridiculous – and held up a finger in the universal sign for "give me a second".

"What is it, Emrys? What do you want?" Arthur's voice was low and objectionable, and Merlin didn't need to see his face to know that he was _definitely_ now wearing his trying-to-glare expression.

"Just… just a second… let me catch my breath…" Merlin gasped in reply.

Arthur heaved a sigh that bordered on a disgruntled growl. "Really, _Em_ rys, you could have picked a better time. We are _just_ about to play a quidditch match."

"Believe you me, I… I wouldn't be talking to you if… it wasn't necessary." Merlin finally lifted his gaze, pushing himself off his knees. He glanced over Arthur's shoulder and – yes, the quidditch team was still divided into the scowling and the curiously peering.

Arthur followed the line of his gaze. "Sorry, Bedivere, won't be a moment. _Em_ rys here is just being an _idiot_. As usual."

Whether it was Arthur's reassurance or his use of a derogatory reference towards Merlin, it hardly mattered for Bedivere shook himself from his affixed stare almost instantly. His glare became a smirk and he nodded shortly. "Alright, then. Five minutes, Pendragon."

"Five minutes," Arthur agreed, and turned back to Merlin as the rest of his teammates disappeared through the door into the change rooms. Lifting his chin in that annoyingly pretentious way he had and narrowing his eyes, he met Merlin's gaze. "What? What do you have to tell me? And why _me_?"

Merlin was asking himself that exact question. Why did he call out to Arthur? Why not to De Grace, who seemed to actually like him a little, or Smith, who had mellowed any animosity he might have had due to Merlin's friendship with his sister, or even Legaloise, who appeared remarkably level headed for someone who, if physicality was any indicator, should have been a meat head? Or, more appropriately, why hadn't he simply gone to one of the professors? To the headmaster, or even to Gaius? Merlin was smacking himself in the head over his stupidity even as he provided Arthur with an answer.

"I'm telling _you_ , you prat, because it concerns you. But if you don't want to hear about how the Slytherin team is making plans to sabotage you in the quidditch match then that's fine by me. I'll just save my breath."

Arthur remained frozen for a moment. Frozen and probably slowly comprehending just what exactly Merlin had said. Then his eyebrows shot upwards, he blinked his eyes from their narrowed glare and he even drew back slightly. "What?"

"I overheard Gordon talking to Ewan in the hallway – which is a really stupid place to discuss something like that; honestly anyone could hear them – and they were saying – or, well, Gordon was saying how he was sick and tired of your jumped up Golden Boy act and was going to try and, I don't know, embarrass you by hexing you or something during the match –"

"Hold on, hold on," Arthur closed his eyes, brow creasing in confusion as he held up a silencing hand. "You're talking about – you mean you heard _Gordon Valiant_ say he was going to – what, that he was going to try and hex me?"

"'Charm' was the word he used, but I get the impression that he wasn't exactly thinking of hitting you with a Giggling Charm," Merlin replied, frowning his affront at the presumptuously raised hand. He chose to ignore it at the moment, however, giving Arthur some leeway for his evident confusion. "And yes, _Gordon_ Valiant."

"You mean, the captain of the Slytherin team?"

"No, I meant the first year Hufflepuff who wears her hair in pigtails and carries a stuffed unicorn with her everywhere she goes."

Arthur opened his eyes and blinked at Merlin. "What?"

Merlin sighed. "Yes, the Slytherin captain."

"And you… you heard him say this?"

Merlin bit back the snide remark he felt oh-so-tempted to utter. Arthur seemed to be short-circuiting and wouldn't fully appreciate them anyway. "Yes."

"And you. You're telling me this?"

"I… think so?" Merlin paused, biting his lip. "I know I should tell a professor or someone so they can stop him –"

" _No_." Arthur spoke so sharply that Merlin jerked half a step away from him in a flinch. "No, don't tell any of the professors."

"What? Why?"

"You said he wanted to embarrass me? If the professors become involved, that will give him exactly what he wants."

Merlin made to speak, then stopped. Arthur's statement seemed just a little ridiculous – what was a little embarrassment when someone's welfare was on the line? – but he paused at the expression on Arthur's face. His eyes were narrowed, thoughtful, lips thinning further with every second. After a moment, hand still raised and cocking his head slightly as he contemplated Merlin, he finally spoke. "Why are you telling me this?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, why?"

"You're a Slytherin. And Valiant's the captain of the Slytherin team. He's obviously trying to hex me – or whatever he intends to do – to sabotage the match so Slytherin can win." Arthur paused, and his expression became suspicious. "So why are you telling me? Is this some kind of trick?"

For a moment, Merlin was rendered speechless. He opened and closed his mouth but for once no words came out. It took him all of Arthur's descent from suspicion into confusion once more for him to realise it was anger that flooded through him. _This bloody…_ "God, you are _such_ a prat."

"What? What are you -?"

"For your information, Arthur Pendragon, I don't give a toss about quidditch. I never have and I sincerely doubt I ever will." It was Merlin's turn to raise a hand to silence Arthur as he made to interrupt him. "Firstly, I'm telling you because it's the right thing to do. Call it a challenge or just another hurdle or whatever you will, but I'm pretty sure that most quidditch matches don't involve hexing the opponent. It's low and pathetic."

"Emrys –"

"Secondly, just because I'm in Slytherin house doesn't mean I have to approve of everything that everyone in my house does. People can share a dormitory and still think each other are barbarous nutcases."

"Emrys, would you just –"

"And thirdly, you are an _utter prat_ , and every time you open your mouth I want to smack you over the head. But that doesn't mean I want you to get hurt. It doesn't mean I want someone to hex you in mid air and knock you off your broom to plummet to your death. You annoy the hell out of me, Arthur, but I .don't want you _dead_."

By the time Merlin had finished his profuse rant, he was breathing heavily once more, though from anger rather than exertion this time. He knew for a fact that he hadn't shouted – Merlin didn't like shouting, not from himself or anyone else – but to look at Arthur's expression he would have suspected that he'd been the victimised loser of a bellowing match. His eyes were blinking wide, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open just slightly. Even his presumptuously raised hand had lowered, his stance easing from its righteousness into a slump of utter bemusement.

Merlin observed all of it in a second. A second was all he took, because as his anger left ice-cold footprints running through his veins to chill his fingers he wanted nothing more than to get away from the stupid Gryffindor boy.

Spinning on his heel, Merlin turned from Arthur and left him in front of the change rooms with quick strides. He didn't look behind him once, not to see if Arthur wished to respond or if he somehow managed to patch together his infuriatingly stubborn attempt at a glare.

And if Merlin headed down towards the quidditch pitch, towards the upraised granstands propped precariously several hundred feet into the air, then who was going to accuse him for his own foolishness? Besides, it wasn't like Merlin could just walk away from a potentially disastrous match. Complete ass that Arthur was, Merlin _had_ warned him of the danger Valiant presented. He'd be damned if he let his forewarning go to waste.

* * *

 

Arthur was a good son. He was a good student. And he was a very good quidditch player.

These things he prided himself on. He had always considered himself exceptional, had always been told that he was by everyone but his father, and Uther's silence was more of a product of his reluctance to state what he considered the obvious than any disagreement on the subject.

Arthur had known he was exceptional on a bone deep level throughout his entire childhood. So when he arrived at school, when he'd been faced with the flaws of his character, confronted with the possibility that his consideration of pure blood superiority was wrong, he had been stunned. How could his own perspective be so wrong? It was inconceivable.

That perspective had shifted over the years, changing as he'd tried to correct them himself. Now, in his third year, Arthur prided himself on the fact that he barely even considered blood status, despite the emphasis that his father still placed upon it in his silent manner. Because though he hated to think of his father as being wrong or misguided, Arthur knew better. His friends had shown him better. He was not superior to Gwen or Elyan because he carried a lineage of witches and wizards in his family history while they had only their Muggleborn father. He was not better than Percival because Percival's mother was a third generation half-blood and his father a fourth. Similarly, he did not deem people like Michael Morris on equal footing, or worse, greater standing than his friends because of his blood purity. If anything, Morris was far inferior simply because of his poor character.

Arthur had come to understand this, too. And he felt that, over the past two years, he had become a better person for changing his perspective.

That had changed when Merlin Emrys threw a _Confundus_ Charm in the works of his confidence. Emrys, who wasn't a Muggleborn, who had a lineage of noble blood on his father's side besides, but who reared up a whole knew kind of aversion in Arthur. For whatever reason, he just couldn't see past the green and silver that adorned his tie, that patterned the cuffs of his sleeves. Emrys was a Slytherin, and Arthur, naturally, hated him for it.

Had the times been kinder, he could have avoided the situation entirely. He would have avoided the upwelling of guilt that arose within him at facing his flaws once more. Except that he couldn't. For whatever reason, Emrys just kept cropping up. First it was with his insults, the insults that had hit Arthur so strongly because no one, not even his friends in their infrequently serious disagreements, had ever called him such names with absolute sincerity. There was his magic, that cold strangeness that Arthur had never felt before. And then there was the incident at the welcoming feast with Collins' strix, then Gwen's sudden fondness for him, the rescue of sorts with the Shrinking Solution, then the poisoned pumpkin juice. Time and time again, Emrys seemed to spring to his attention and demand that he notice him. Demand that he reconsider and reassess the prejudice that had slumbered within him, the prejudice that told him that 'Gryffindors were good' and 'Slytherins were bad'. It was a prominent fixture of pureblood teachings and Arthur had assumed that opinion as fact as he had with everything else.

But now, this. This... this sincerity. This fairness. Emrys has outed his own house, had spoken of plans overheard and potential for not only dangerously unfair play but also the chance for Valiant to humiliate Arthur, because he believed that the actions of his own housemates was wrong.

It was so confusing, so frustrating, and went against everything that Arthur had always expected of Slytherin's. Everything had been thrown into disarray so that he didn't know what to think. And it was all because of Emrys. It was driving him insane not only because he was becoming more and more confused with each repetition of the memory of Emrys' words in his head but because he was well and truly distracted from the quidditch game that was on the verge of beginning. That was _just starting_.

The whistle sounded. It was barely audible over the sound of the screaming and roaring of the audience in the stands, and like a gunshot at the start of a race launched the game into action. With a monumental effort, a physical shake of his head, Arthur dragged his attention from his contemplation and kicked off from the ground. Another deliberate shove, a promise to consider it later, and he placed all thoughts of Emrys, all considerations of potential goodliness in Bad Slytherins, from his mind. He fell to playing the game.

It was easier to do with the distraction of the sport he so loved. The familiar feeling of the broomstick Arthur sat astride, the momentary roil of his belly as it dropped to his toes with sudden weightlessness, the howling of the wind in his ears that nearly drowned out the cries of the onlookers.

Arthur was resolved. He had a plan in response to Emrys' words. It wasn't anything exceptional but it was one he had every intention of following. And that was to avoid the Slytherin players Valiant and West, to maintain as much distance from them as possible and play with everything he had. With all the speed and skill he would usually play, and to catch the snitch faster than he usually did.

Arthur never wanted a quidditch match to end quickly. Even though it was his duty to do so as the Seeker to catch the snitch and end the game, he revelled in the act of flying too completely to wish to hasten his return to the ground. More than that, the pumping of adrenaline through his veins at the frenzy of competition was intoxicating.

But this was different. Both the outcome of the match and the potential for his own humiliation hinged upon his speed of Seeking. Arcing into the air, curled low over his broom for greater speed and manoeuvrability, Arthur turned squinting eyes in a scan around the pitch. His practiced senses raked the air for the barest hint of darting gold.

"Pellinore takes the quaffle, passes to De Grace who dives and – close call with the bludger there sent by Slytherin Captain Valiant. De Grace passes to Smith, who dodges Perell's intercept and makes for the goals…"

The commentary of whatever enthusiastic student had managed to land the position that day bellowed across the pitch. Arthur listened with half an ear as he drew further upwards, rising and curving to make a circuit of the grandstands. He had faith in his team – he knew they were more than competent from two years of playing alongside half of them – but more than that there was precious little he could do to assist them. As a Seeker, his job was to catch the snitch. Occasionally, when the opposing Beaters became exceptionally persistent, he may intercept them or the Chasers to waylay their targeting attempts or attempts at scoring respectively. But by and large, such a duty was left to Percival and Jillian Geraint and the ferocious swing of their Beater's bats.

Arthur watched the Beaters and their bludgers for a different reason this time.

From what he could tell, Valiant wasn't paying him any attention. As usual, he smacked at the heavy bludgers with a snarl at every possible opportunity, attacking Arthur's team far more than he was defending his own. Arthur steered clear of him, sparing him in particular a sidelong glance every other second when he was not Seeking or watching West for his own success at hunting the snitch. Or his own underhanded play; West had never seemed particularly underhanded, but then he was a Slytherin, and Valiant's friend to boot.

Gryffindor scored first. Of course they did; they were the better team. They scored second too, with Leon passing an incredible lob towards Elyan over the Slytherin Keeper's head, who rebounde it into the goal with such speed and accuracy that it could have been choreographed. The pair smacked high fives in triumph as they pelted back in the other direction, tight smiles visible to Arthur even from where he swept about the top of the pitch.

Perell scored, then Pellinore snatched another goal for Gryffindor. Geraint managed to deflect the next attempt of the Slytherin's with a well-aimed bat to a Bludger that knocked the quaffle straight out of the Chaser's hands. Back and forth, red and green figures darted almost too fast to follow. Throughout it all, Arthur peered after any trace of the snitch.

Gryffindor scored their eighth goal just as West dived. From the opposite side of the pitch to Arthur, lurching with a jerk on his broom, the Slytherin Seeker plummeted to the ground like a seeking falcon. Cursing, scowling that he'd missed whatever West had seen, Arthur spun his own broom around and shot across the pitch after him.

He should have known it was a feint. He should have looked before he acted, noticed that there was no snitch within the line of West's sights. Too late, however, for when West pulled from his dive with a slightly sheepish expression on his face, Arthur felt the spell hit.

Not to Arthur himself, he realised as his broom jerked beneath him. And not from West. Glancing over his shoulder as he pulled out of his own headlong flight, Arthur glimpsed just for a second Valiant's triumphant smirk before he turned and, with an enthusiastic swing, beat a bludger towards the quaffle-carrying Pellinore. Pellinore cried out in audible pain as the heavy ball struck, but Valiant didn't seem slightly repentant. Not even when Uther's whistle pierced in a rebounding shriek across the pitch to afford a penalty to Gryffindor.

Arthur didn't know what he'd been hit with, what his broom had been hit with, but he felt it. As Arthur urged his broom higher into the air once more, it jerked in a spasm. Likely invisibly to any onlooker, perceiving it as a twist directed by Arthur himself, but he felt it. A jerk, and then his broom dropped.

It dropped and continued to drop. For five, heart-stopping seconds, Arthur plummeted towards the ground. The wailing of the wind battered his ears and he pressed himself closer to his broom with the sole intention of remaining _on_ his broom rather than falling off, even if he was spiralling to his death.

Twenty meters from the ground, the broom pulled out of the dive. Arthur caught his breath, could breath again as it rose towards the highest row of seating in the bleachers.

Until it dropped again.

Arthur clung on for dear life. He was a skilled flyer, he knew, but he couldn't combat the driven intent of the spell that was directing his broom. A struggling wrench of his arm could turn it, but it was with difficulty, like dragging a stick through mud. Up and down, up and down, his soaring undulations becoming sharper with every repetition. Arthur was useless to do anything other than cling on for dear life.

Pounding fear gave way to anger. Not immediately, but swiftly. Arthur was no coward, nor was he one to fall prey to his fears, but he admitted to himself a rapidly rising fear. It was when the sixth, the seventh rise and fall passed, Arthur dodging through players only by sheer luck, that his rising fear abruptly shattered. Anger sprung forth in its place.

How dare he! How _dare_ Valiant think he could hex Arthur's broom and get away with it. To make him appear the fool in front of the entire school. In front of his father. For the first time, Arthur was truly and utterly grateful to Emrys for telling him of the Slytherin's sabotage. It gave him a focus for his rage.

Gritting his teeth as his broom fell into another dive, Arthur forcibly shut out the words of the commentator. He didn't need – didn't want – to hear the speculations as to the nature of his 'unusual' flying. Thankfully, it appeared that his broom's erratic manoeuvres were construed as attempts to chase a snitch that wasn't there.

It wouldn't last for long, Arthur knew. They would realise soon, if not because he didn't stop his foolish and irrational bouncing then because West wasn't chasing alongside him. But it didn't matter. Arthur had made his resolution.

He would catch the snitch. Somehow. He would catch it even with the hex that Valiant had put upon him, and he would do it without breathing a word of the illegal play to his father in a bid for assistance. And then, only after he'd upstaged Valiant even with the deception, he would tell. In privacy, in the proper proceedings afforded to formal accusations, he would blame Valiant for hexing him in a way that could have seriously impinged upon his safety.

He would make sure Valiant paid for his actions. By Gryffindor, he would make sure of it. And he would begin by winning the game, even with Valiant's cheating attempt.

As though the magic of the world was contriving to ensure he could reach that goal, Arthur saw his opportunity arise seconds later. To the sound of the commentator's words of "Hanson scores, another ten points to Slytherin", his eyes fastened upon the snitch. The fluttering ball buzzed directly below him.

When his broom dove once more, Arthur threw himself into the motion. He leaned outwards, urging the compulsion spell to lean with him, and dragged his broom through the air even as he speared towards the ground at incredible speed.

He missed. Sweeping his arm outwards to reach for the snitch, he missed it by bare centimetres. Cursing and spitting, he rose once more, his broom disregarded his straining attempts to turn it towards his escaping target. Worse yet, West had noticed.

Reaching the peak of his climb, Arthur pressed himself low to his broom once more as he turned and descended. This time, he arced alongside West as the Slytherin too dove, tucked just as low as Arthur was himself with eyes trained forwards in a squint. Arthur reached forwards, stretching his arm out even as the leather-gloved hand of his opponent did the same at his side.

The snitch escaped again. Just barely, it darted like a skipping dragonfly from their path. And Arthur, leaning after it with the natural motions of a Seeker, nearly fell from his broom as it spun an about face and began a nearly vertical climb once more.

Nearly fell. No, he didn't _nearly_ fall. Arthur's outstretched arm, the easing of his grip, cast him nearly fully from the broom itself. His legs swung loose, his right arm flailing, and only his left hand locked stubbornly around the rod of his broomstick saved him from being flung free.

It was a heart wrenching moment, the second in less than ten minutes. Arthur didn't cry out – he wouldn't, even if he could have – but locked his jaw and clung on for dear life. He felt a coil of fire, the unwinding of his magic, loosen within his chest in response to his spark of near-terror. It hissed, it spat, and it reared its head. But it didn't strike.

Arthur couldn't direct his magic even had he wanted to, and certainly not without his wand. He couldn't think past the desperate need to grip with every ounce of his strength, to remount his wayward broom, to chase down the snitch and win the game. To make Valiant pay for making him the fool. Anger fought with fear for precedence.

Or maybe his magic did respond. Arthur didn't know. He would never know, would never consider it again. But for whatever reason, his own magic or the strength of the hex dampening briefly, when the broom reached its height it stopped. It didn't dive once more, though it quivered as it hovered in place as though it sorely wished to. And blessedly, with a swing of his leg, Arthur threw himself back into his seat. He didn't realise until that moment that cries of fear and concern had erupted from the audience; he still barely considered them, even as they faded to relief as the commentator sighed with a "And he's back on!"

He turned, dragged at his broom that still trembled just slightly with twitching attempts to evade instruction, and pelted after the snitch.

West was his indicator, his director. The Slytherin boy hadn't lost the snitch's trail in what Arthur realised was only brief seconds of his own distraction. Arthur dove after him, nearly scraping along the ground as his broom fought his will and darted after him. Zigzagging in the wake of snitch and flyer, he gained in seconds.

When he interrupted West's unblinking focus, it was in an explosive culmination of his determination, his anger and his loathing for an opponent who would stoop to such underhanded tactics. Dropping beneath the Slytherin, feet nearly sweeping the ground, he jerked his resistant broom in a heaving effort upwards once more and, nearly elbowing West in the face, snatched the snitch from his fingertips.

Exaltation erupted within him. Success, triumph, _justice_. And foolishly – foolish as he would consider it in hindsight – Arthur lessened the strength of his battle against his broomstick.

That was all the broom needed to turn into a rabid, compelled hunk of wood once more. Or maybe it was Arthur's magic releasing it, if it had even withheld the spell at all. But as soon as Arthur barked a roaring "Yes!" and raised the snitch in his hand to all to see, the broom jerked skyward beneath him.

Arthur fell off backwards without even the chance to grasp the handle of his broom once more.

It was a blessing that he was so close to the ground. A blessing, though the impact still hurt. Arthur slammed into the thick scattering of fine sand that covered the pitch, breath bursting from him in a painful _whoosh_. Somehow, he managed to turn the fall into a roll, the practiced roll of a combatant as he'd been trained from childhood to respond in a duel. And miraculously, he managed to regain his feet.

There was a cry of surprise and worry from the spectators, but that concern quickly morphed into relief and raucous applause. Arthur, struggling to catch his breath, straightened his spine and raised the snitch aloft, brandishing it like a trophy and turning in a slow circle. He very resolutely did not look towards where his broom had crashed into the base of one of the stands, just as he avoided looking towards Valiant, or any of the other Slytherin quidditch team. They would get what was coming to them.

"Pendragon has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins, two-hundred and fifty to sixty!" The noise redoubled with the commentator's announcement. Cries of triumph, of victory, sounded from the Gryffindors, were mirrored by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs though absent from the Slytherins. Arthur couldn't stop the savage smile from drawing across his face.

His team descended around him in seconds, dismounting with the speed and grace of practices flyers. Between their own cries of triumph, baffled questions of "Arthur, what the hell?" and "What kind of crazy flying were you doing?" blurted from every mouth in some form or other. Only Percival remained silent, thoughtful as always, though Arthur could read the confusion in the slight frown of his forehead.

Uther descended a moment later. To anyone else, Arthur suspected he would have looked only faintly curious, the small curl touching his lips even congratulatory. But Arthur saw the keenness of his gaze, the flash of his eyes and the brief throb of a vein in his temple. He was striding towards Arthur the moment his feet touched the ground, his own broomstick in hand and black and silver robes billowing behind him.

"Arthur," he began, words clipped but quiet enough to seem less than severe.

"Headmaster," Arthur interrupted before he could continue. "I have something of great import to tell you concerning the interplay of this match." Arthur met his father's gaze for a moment, hoping to convey his insistence with the formality of his words, before turning deliberately to glance at Valiant. He was rewarded with the Slytherin captain, peering at his with rage thinly concealed by a flat gaze, twisting his expression into a snarl.

Uther followed his gaze briefly, and Arthur saw the throb of the vein in his temple reappear briefly once more. He nodded curtly. "As you wish. In my office." And with that, turning and nodding at Bedivere with a muted word of congratulations, he strode from the pitch.

Arthur expected the chorus of questions from his teammates, the nudging of Leon's elbow in his ribs and the faint worry on Elyan's brow as he expressed his concern with a repeated, "What is it, Arthur? What is it?" Arthur didn't answer any of them, saying that he'd tell them if the headmaster allowed it, before they moved as a group towards the change room.

He did spare one more smirk for Valiant, however, and was rewarded once more with an intensification of his snarl. He could almost hear the growl from across the pitch. _So Slytherin. Typically Slytherin._ Arthur thought, shaking his head with a grim smile. Only for it to fade slightly a second later. _Or at least typical of most Slytherins_.

Glancing over his shoulder, Arthur briefly scanned the sea of spectators gradually making their move from the stands. He couldn't see Emrys anywhere, however, if he even had stayed for the match. Arthur hadn't really expected him to, not after he'd stormed off. Not when he'd seemed so angry that Arthur had felt the rising waves of coldness like a winter blast slap him over the face.

Valiant's actions might be typical of Slytherins. Typical of the behaviour that Arthur had been raised to believe that every student of the house of Salazar demonstrated. Except that such would make Emrys a very atypical Slytherin indeed.

* * *

 

Merlin knocked on the black door before it had a chance to open of its own accord. His _Lumos_ hovering above his cradling palm, illuminating the corridor. That illumination pooled into the room when the door creaked inwards, overriding the feeble light of the candle.

The Dark Arts professor wasn't hidden in the corner of shadows this time. He sat on the divan furthest from the door, back bowed and face half-hidden but for the glow of his ambient amber-red eyes. As Merlin stepped slowly into the room, however, he could swear he could make out a smile on the man's face.

Before the man could speak, before he could flood the silence with his grumbling voice, Merlin started. "I've thought about your offer. And… I want you to teach me wandless magic."

The amber eyes rose, regarding him unblinkingly for a moment. "Do you, now?" The man said in a deceptively mild tone. It sounded almost a taunt.

Merlin winced slightly. He hadn't meant to sound so demanding. "I meant please. Could you please teach me wandless magic?"

The man's face turned upwards towards him and this time Merlin could make out the faint play of amusement on his lips. The dancing shadows of the candle and the steady yellow-white glow of Merlin's _Lumos_ wrought havoc on the scaling of his face. "What changed your mind?"

Merlin's mind flickered back to the quidditch match. To the sight of Arthur clutching with steadfast determination yet a visible hint of terror to his broom as it jerked and swung like a rabid bull, dangling him a hundred meters above the ground. He didn't particularly like Arthur – no, it wasn't hatred, not really, though he could hardly profess any fondness for the other boy - but neither did he want to see him injured. Or worse, dead. It had looked like a very real possibility from the granstands, the hanging figure suspended and swinging dangerously from one arm. It had seemed almost a certainty that he'd fall.

Merlin's magic had nearly failed him. His heart had been pounding painfully in his ears, coldness coursing through his body, but in the heat of the moment, when he needed to act fast, Merlin had stuttered. He'd faltered as he hadn't even with the strix earlier that year. No one else knew, truly knew, what was happening, that Valiant had sabotaged the broom; foolishly, Merlin had stuck to Arthur's request and withheld from telling any of the professors of Valiant's plans.

That left only Merlin to help.

It had taken three attempts - three laborious attempts - to exert his will over the broom and still it's antics long enough for Arthur to end the game. He could have used his wand had he known a spell, but he hadn't. Wandless, wordless magic, enforcing his will through the ribbons of coiling ice that extended from his core, was all he could do. And he almost hadn't made it in time.

Swallowing, Merlin caught his lip between his teeth before answering. "I... someone almost got hurt because I wasn't fast enough. Because I couldn't act quickly enough. I... I don't want to fail, not again."

The man cocked his head like a curious bird. "It's always him," he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.

"What? Only who? What do you mean?"

But the man only shook his head. "Nothing. I simply reminiscing on the long forgotten past," he said, which only confused Merlin further. His confusion was shunted to the side, however, when the man rose to his feet and took half a dozen steps towards him. He fought the urge to fall back away from his approach; it was a struggle. "I will teach you what I can, Merlin. Because you bent your pride enough to admit that you needed the help if for no other reason. And," he smiled once more, and it was terrifyingly predatory, "because I find you interesting."

Merlin shifted uneasily. He didn't want to think about what that meant, but... "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it. I do, even if it might seem like I was taking your offer for granted for waiting so long."

The man cocked his head once more, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You are welcome. And Merlin," his smile spread once more. "Call me Kilgharrah."


	8. Learning and Understanding

                                                                        

Merlin stared at the cold fireplace intently, unblinkingly. He could almost see it, could almost make out the flames that _would_ be flickering in the hearth any second now. Any second…

 _Come on, come on, come on_ … His fingers twitched, outstretched, pale in the relative darkness of the greater room and itching with the tingle of magic. If he couldn't just –

 _"Incendio_."

The flame sprung into existence, immediately catching on the half-burnt log in the hearth and flaring with a sudden warmth that bathed Merlin's face in its glow. The fire spread, crackling merrily, and in short order had illuminated the room at large with its glow.

 _Oops_.

Biting his lip, Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Professor Kilgharrah, seated on the divan directly behind him and as still as a statue, met his gaze in silent expressionlessness. In some ways, that was worse that if he'd reprimanded Merlin for his incompetency.

"Sorry," Merlin murmured, dropping his eyes down to his hands where they plucked awkwardly at the cuffs of his sleeves.

Kilgharrah maintained his silence for only a moment longer. "You seem to be under the impression, Merlin, that I will scold you for being incapable of immediately fulfilling my instruction."

Despite the fact that, indeed, the Dark Arts professor's words didn't carry a hint of scolding, Merlin winced and lifted his gaze nervously. "Well, I did mess it up. Again."

"You did not 'mess it up'. You conjured the flame."

"Yeah, but I still used the incantation."

Kilgharrah tilted his head to the side, cocking it like a bird peering contemplatively at a worm. "That is not incorrect."

Merlin sighed. Why he was attempting to explain to Kilgharrah exactly how he'd messed up was beyond him? "But it wasn't what you asked for. I just…" He glanced briefly back towards his conjured flame. "For some reason I can't manage to do it wordlessly."

Kilgharrah uttered a deep hum in the back of his throat that seemed to reverberate throughout the room. Merlin could swear he felt the vibrations through the rug-draped stone floor beneath him. "It will come. In time."

"But didn't you say that wordless magic is what I should be working on? That I shouldn't be incanting and that it's supposed to come from my magic and my will alone? Didn't you say that it was a restriction to speak –?"

"Merlin," Kilgharrah interrupted of Merlin's rapid questioning. "Calm yourself for a moment and consider. It has been barely more than a month since you have begun tutelage under my instruction." Something approaching a smile – though it was hard to make out between the scars and destruction of the professor's face – tugged at his lips. "You appear to have some unrealistic expectations for the speed of your learning."

Once more, Merlin heaved a heavy sigh. He exhaled in a huff, blowing at his fringe slightly and forced his fingers to cease their agitated fiddling. It was true, he knew. Since he had approached Kilgharrah little more than a month before, he had been visiting him at least twice a week for several hours each time. Always at night and always with a sense that he was breaking more rules than simply curfew.

He wasn't. He shouldn't have been. There was nothing wrong with seeking further learning, was there? After all, Merlin was at a school; shouldn't his behaviour be condoned rather than disapproved of? But even so, Merlin kept his actions secret, told no one of his meetings with the ex-Dark Arts professor, and always waited until his dorm mates were asleep and the common room vacated before taking himself down into the Eastern Wing of the dungeons.

Merlin wasn't sure if it was validating or concerning that Kilgharrah never questioned the timing of his arrival, or that he was surely acting against the express orders of the headmaster and his restrictions. On the few instances that Merlin had fallen prey to his curiosity and asked him why he was secreted in the restricted regions of the school, why no one else seemed aware of his presence and why he was even at the school at all, Kilgharrah had deflected him with varying degrees of subtlety, from drawing his attention back to his spell practicing to blankly staring at him for a moment before ignoring his question completely. Merlin had since learned that it did him little good to bother asking at all.

The lessons were hard. Hard in a different way to how they were in his usual classes. In Transfiguration and Charms, in DADA, Merlin learned first the spell with his wand and then attempted to reproduce it without the aid of a channel. That was simply the whole of it. He would speak the words, more often than not gesturing in the same movement his wand would make were he casting with it, and produce an outcome. His professors were pleased enough with that, though the excitement had worn off for both them and Merlin's fellow students after they'd all reached the conclusion that such an end was the entirety of what he was doing. Wandless magic was hard – it was common knowledge, even if Merlin found it at times easier than using a wand at all – but evidently it wasn't impossible. And, as Merlin had heard from the whispers, "maybe it's just the new boy and his weirdness. Maybe most people who do home schooling can do that?"

Merlin had to wonder at that himself. Was it really that strange or had he simply not heard tell of anyone else disregarding their wand as he did?

Kilgharrah's lessons were different. They were _harder_ , and it wasn't because of the added complexity of the spells that he directed Merlin to use, for they weren't more complicated. It wasn't because he was a hard taskmaster, for he truly wasn't. It was because, quite aside from the approach that every other professor had taken with Merlin, he considered wandless magic to be entirely different to the mainstream methods of spellcasting.

"Wandless magic is as different from that using a wand as running is from swimming. As to run requires an entirely different set of muscles, a different rate and mode of breathing, of concentration and – entirely – of context, so too does wandless magic differ."

That had been the first lesson that Kilgharrah had taught Merlin. Mostly, that the impression he'd been given of the ability he utilised, of its actuality, was skewed. That the definition was given by people who didn't truly understand wandless magic at all, who had not the familiarity with their own magic itself to be able to cast without the use of an aid.

That was how Kilgharrah described it. Wandless magic was not an ability acquired by those that possessed exceptional strength. It was a product of how well one knew their own magic, could manipulate it without the crutch of a wand.

"Only those who are truly in touch with their own magic can wield it without the use of a wand. Those that understand that, when casting a spell, it is to request the actions of a friend rather than to order a subordinate."

Merlin didn't entirely understand what Kilgharrah meant by that but filed the information away anyway for future consideration. Perhaps it was one of those explanations that made more sense the longer one thought about it? Still, he couldn't help but ask. "So you're saying that every witch or wizard who uses a wand is, what, enslaving their magic or something?"

Kilgharrah had shaken his head sagely. "Not enslaving, no. Magic is not sentient in and of itself."

"Then why do you need to ask it to do something rather than command it? Why would it even matter to the magic?"

"It doesn't. It does not matter to the _magic_ whether it is commanded or requested. It matter instead to the spell caster himself."

That explanation didn't make any more sense to Merlin. If anything, it baffled him further. He'd let the subject rest, however. It was just another thing to contemplate and attempt riddle out.

Kilgharrah himself was something of an enigma. Quietly and deeply spoken, his voice was a grumble, his instructions relayed in slow, lecturing tones. Merlin witnessed in their first lesson the evidence that supported his claims of being an ex-professor simply from his structured approach to the session. In his explanations, his coaching, the very atmosphere that he seemed to coat the room in that forbade Merlin from speaking or acting with anything less than respect and deference.

The man himself was less explainable than the easy identification of his previous career may suggest. Merlin couldn't get much out of him other than that he used to be a Dark Arts professor, had ceased his teaching when the subject itself was labelled 'too dangerous' and that he possibly – probably – used wandless magic himself. Surely he did, Merlin considered, for how else would he be so competent in his explanations, or appear to have such knowledge of the skill itself?

That was just about all Merlin could make out of him. That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, he appeared to somewhat dislike the Headmaster. A lot.

That realisation had come to Merlin quite by chance. It was in their third lesson, when Kilgharrah was discussing the link between magical strength and the ability to perform wandless magic.

"But I was always told that the reason I could do wandless magic so easily was because I was pretty strong with magic," Merlin had said with a frown. He didn't much like talking about his magical strength – there had been something close to resentment for it in Ealdor from the other children his age, though it was largely silently expressed – but Kilgharrah's suggestion of otherwise baffled him enough to overlook his disinclination.

Kilgharrah, perched in what had become his customary seat of immobility on one of the divans, had nodded his head slowly. He appeared to do everything with creaking slowness, moving at a pace that suggested he was far older than he appeared. "That is the universal understanding, yes –"

"Then if it's what everyone thinks, then why -?"

"- but it is the incorrect one," Kilgharrah had continued as though Merlin hadn't spoken. It was another thing Merlin had noticed: he seemed remarkably adept at ignoring Merlin's words when he felt inclined to do so. It irked Merlin, but not enough that he felt the need to comment on it. "A spellcaster's abilities rely upon the capacity for intimacy with one's own magic, for fondness and understanding as much as it does sheer force."

Merlin's frown had deepened in his confusion. That wasn't what he'd always learnt, what he'd read from books, and he had to wonder how readily he should believe Kilgharrah, if he should simply taking his word for it when so many opinions varied from that he professed to be 'the truth'. But then… "Is that why hardly any of the professors use wandless magic? They're surely strong enough but I've never really seen any of them use it."

Kilgharrah had given a slight nod of his head that had felt faintly approving. "You are correct."

"I've only ever seen Professor Gorlois use it once at the beginning of term when he was first showing me how to cast without my wand. Before he knew that I already sort of knew how, I mean. And the headmaster, too –"

"Uther does _not_ use wandless magic appropriately," Kilgharrah had interrupted him and Merlin had started slightly with the force of his tone. It grumbled like thunder, deeper than he'd heard it before, and seemed to shake the walls of the room. "He orders and he confines. He forces his magic forth without the channel of his wand by demand rather than request. Uther is _not_ an example you should follow when attempting to emulate another's demonstration of wandless magic."

Merlin had been quelled, silently withdrawing slightly into his seat from the anger that seemed to radiate from Kilgharrah. He hadn't know, hadn't realised, that the professor seemed to harbour such intense _anger_ for the headmaster, but that was evidently what it was. Perhaps it even was dislike. "Sorry, sir," he'd mumbled.

His words seemed to have taken a moment to reach Kilgharrah, but when they did he'd deflated from his anger quite abruptly. He'd blinked luminescent orange eyes at Merlin and drew a deep breath. Then, as though the occurrence hadn't happened at all, he'd cast their exchange aside and adopted a lecturing tone once more. "It is true that magical strength can compensate in some instances for a detachment or lesser connection to one's core magic. However, it can never truly achieve the same degree…"

Merlin had added the suspicion that Uther was a subject best left alone when in Kilgharrah's presence to his short list of understandings for the man.

Since beginning, Kilgharrah had given him one practical instruction and one only. It was something so huge, so unending, that Merlin doubted he'd ever completely fulfil it. That instruction was to cast wandlessly, with as little of the deliberate hand waving that emulated wand movements – though gesturing was acceptable as it helped to direct his intentions – and to minimise incantation. Because, as Kilgharrah had said, "Incantation restricts the full capabilities of a the spell and limits the true intent of the will upon the enchantment". Whatever that meant. Merlin felt at times that he was simply the recipient of information, holding and considering that intelligence without fully comprehending it.

It was one instruction, one direction, and yet still Merlin hadn't been able to achieve it. Not once. He was nothing if not frustrated.

Even more so when Kilgharrah didn't seem to expect anything further from him. Drawing Merlin's attention from the fire he'd cast in the hearth – with an incantation, dammit – Kilgharrah gave another hum. "I do believe that we have perhaps reached the conclusion of our lesson for this evening."

Merlin glanced towards the professor sharply. "What? Why? I can try again, sir. I'll get it, I will –"

"It has been three hours, Merlin. You must seek your bed if you are to claim any sleep for the night." Kilgharrah's tone was faintly reproving, as though he were gently scolding a child for their thoughtless behaviour.

"I'm fine. It's the weekend tomorrow anyway –"

"While I appreciate your eagerness to learn," Kilgharrah interrupted him once more, "and believe me, it does you a credit – there are many students who would resist attempts at education that have been afforded to them – you must take a break every once in a while." Kilgharrah's orange eyes swirled slightly, as though brewing with amusement, even though he gave no other sign of feeling such. "You will get there, Merlin. Of that I am sure."

Opening his mouth to dispute, Merlin had to forcibly clamp his lips together once more. He had to remind himself that Kilgharrah was actually doing him the favour of teaching him for no reason that he could discern other than, as he'd said, simple curiosity. It would be presumptuous, rude even, to push for more. Bowing his head in resignation, Merlin rose to his feet.

"Do not loose heart," Kilgharrah consoled him, and once more Merlin could swear he felt a touch of amusement from the man. "You have already achieved such an end already. Several times, I might add. And you grow more honed with your attempts every day."

"Yeah, but those times were all by accident, because I wasn't thinking and just –"

"Precisely." Kilgharrah said, as though Merlin's reply had supported his own words. "You simply acted. You silenced the strix without an incantation, you effectively turned the Great Hall into the scene of a juice-bathed thunderstorm, and your suppression of the hex upon Arthur Pendragon's broomstick was a sheer act of will. You can do it when you need to, Merlin. It is simply that, at present, you cannot fathom the true benefits of doing so."

Merlin bit back the words that arose, as usual, onto his tongue. The questions as to how – _how_ in the _hell_ – Kilgharrah knew about any of those instances when he had surely not been there. Most specifically, how he knew about Merlin's actions in the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match when no one, not even Arthur, knew what he'd done. He knew it was useless to ask, as Kilgharrah never answered such questions anyway. Merlin had long since suspected that Kilgharrah must have some form of a Seeing Gift.

Besides, he didn't really like thinking about any of those instances, as much because he'd made a fool of himself in all of them, despite their positive outcomes, as because, when he truly thought about it, he didn't understand what it was that he'd done. It was infuriating that when he _wasn't_ trying he could manage to cast wandless spells wordlessly, but when he did try he couldn't.

Rising to his feet, Merlin made for the door. Only to have himself paused in step by Kilgharrah's murmured words behind him. "How is young Arthur Pendragon these days, Merlin?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin gave the professor a blank stare. How was…? Why did Kilgharrah always ask him about Arthur? They were hardly friends, barely even acquaintances, and if the volatility between them had lessened somewhat since the quidditch match, that was about the best that could be said of it. Even knowing as he did that Arthur had believed him, had acted upon his words, that Gordon Valiant had been expelled from the school – an event that had shocked and horrified both the Slyhterin quidditch team and the entirety of the student body – was indication enough. Valiant had left without a word to anyone and, as far as Merlin knew, the reasoning behind his expulsion was largely kept hidden. He had to wonder at just how much Headmaster Pendragon knew, how much Arthur had told him.

Not that he was ever going to find out.

Biting back an annoyed sigh, Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really see him except in class."

"You are not yet friends?"

Frowning, Merlin shook his head with a jerk. "I don't know why you keep asking me that. I seriously doubt we are ever going to be friends. Ever."

Kilgharrah gave a rumbling chuckle that gave Merlin the impression of a distant earthquake. "Don't discount the possibility so readily, Merlin. Anything is possible."

"True," Merlin allowed. "But some things are very unlikely."

Kilgharrah gave another chuckle before turning once more towards the fire. "I wonder…" He muttered, and it was very definitely spoken to himself. Merlin recognised both the introspective contemplation of his words and his physical turning from Merlin for the dismissal that it was. He made that same gesture, adopted that same pose, at the end of every one of Merlin's lessons with him. The message couldn't be clearer: they were done for the night.

Merlin did, however, paused to glance back at Kilgharrah for a moment longer as he stepped into the doorway. He didn't understand the man. He didn't truly understand him at all, not who he was or what his intentions were. For the life of him, Merlin couldn't understand where that 'curiosity' to teach him came from. He had half expected it to be nothing but a pretence to conceal his real intentions, his inclination to urge Merlin to learning about and using his Dark Gift. But, bafflingly, he hadn't mentioned it, hadn't brought it up or made any particular suggestions on the matter. Not once.

Nodding his head towards the seated man once more, and conjuring a wandless _Lumos_ in his hand with a murmur, Merlin stepped out into the chilled corridor of the dungeon and closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

Knocking on the door to the Hospital Wing, Merlin didn't wait for a reply before sticking his head into the room. "Hello?"

At the other end of the room, Gaius turned from the student he was attending to and glanced towards him. He offered a small, welcoming smile before turning away once more. "Come in, Merlin."

Slipping through the door, Merlin closed it silently behind him and crossed the room towards his uncle. "I just came to wish you a Merry Christmas before leaving."

Gaius nodded without turning this time. "Yes, yes of course. Give my best to your mother for me. It has certainly been too long since I've been able to offer it myself."

"She said that you and Alice were more than welcome to come for Christmas Day if you wanted," Merlin said, pulling up to a stop at Gaius' side. He spared a glance for the student Gaius was treating – Edwin, surprisingly enough – and offered his dorm mate a brief smile before continuing. "I believe her exact words were 'Tell him to pull his nose out of his books and medicines to take the time to visit me every once in a while"."

Chuckling, Gaius shook his head. "She always was particularly blunt when it came to my commitment to doctoring. One would almost think that she disapproved of it."

"She always calls it 'obsession' rather than commitment," Merlin said, nodding. "I always tell her that you remind me of her."

"And she takes well to that?"

"Not really."

"I would expect as much." Gaius spared him another smile before turning back to Edwin.

Merlin lowered himself onto the hospital bed behind him, kicking his legs slightly as he waited. Edwin peered at him sidelong for a moment as Gaius dabbed what looked to be a thick, yellowish cream upon the right side of his face. It wasn't a wary or aversive glance, however. Had it been, Merlin would have recognised the request for privacy and given it. But Edwin didn't seem to care that Merlin saw his treatment in progress; he likely knew that Merlin recognised it for what it was.

 _It really is working quite well,_ Merlin considered, watching with mild attentiveness as Gaius dabbed and smeared. The paste was a variation of a scar-tissue repair ointment that Gaius had recently adapted specifically for Edwin. It targeted magical scars of the nature that Edwin had been exposed to. From fire magic, as far as Merlin could tell. He didn't ask Edwin how he'd come about the scar in the first place and he wouldn't, even if he was clinically curious. Some things were just too intrusive.

Still, it said something of Gaius' skill as a Healer that he could adapt the scar-repair ointment to something so specific. Merlin had already seen some of the effects – slow in appearing but noticeable – and Edwin had only accepted the suggestion to apply it at the beginning of that year.

"You're taking a portkey, then?" Gaius asked with the quiet slowness of one only half attending to their own words. His gaze was firmly affixed upon Edwin's face.

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, but I'm leaving to walk down to the station with Gwen and Lancelot in about an hour. Sefa already left earlier this morning because her mum was Apparating her from Hogsmeade and Freya's staying at school." He glanced at Edwin, feeling compelled to ask merely out of politeness. "Are you going home for Christmas, Edwin?"

"No," Edwin replied shortly, and he turned his gaze to the middle distance in an obvious gesture of disinclination for further conversation. Merlin accepted his request wordlessly. Edwin didn't like to talk about his home life. From what Merlin had heard from the busybody Cornelius – quite without his intention, but when Cornelius wished to relay information there was little chance of avoiding it – Edwin lived with his aunt and uncle because his parents had passed away years ago. Merlin didn't know how it happened and didn't see that he needed to know; it was Edwin's business, and if he chose to share it then he would when he was ready.

Gaius finished moments later, taking a step backwards to survey his work as he rubbed his hands together to free them of excess ointment. Even as Merlin watched, he could see the thick lather of cream begin to disappear, seeping into Edwin's skin like water draining into parched soil. "There. That should do it for the week, Mr Muirden."

"Thank you, Master Livingstone," Edwin murmured as he rose to his feet.

"You are making sure to keep it well cleaned and shaded from the sun whenever you are outdoors?" Gaius asked.

"Yes, sir."

"And not twinges or pains?"

"No, sir."

"Very good then," Gaius nodded. "I'll see you in a week's time."

"Thank you, sir," Edwin repeated, and he made to skirt around Gaius with barely a glance and a nod at Merlin. Evidently it was one of his 'minimal speaking' days. He paused in step, however, before he'd made it past and, eyes drawing towards the door of the Hospital Wing, Merlin could swear that his lip curled slightly in a slight scowl. Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin was baffled to realise why.

The girl who stepped through the doors would have drawn the eyes of a blind man. Not simply physically stunning, she seemed to carry a physical presence that wasn't entirely magical. And that was to say nothing of the intensity of her gaze; as a fifth year, Merlin had little to do with her, but he had nonetheless heard whisper of it from his fellow housemates. Darling of Slytherin though she may be, it was common knowledge that Morgana Gorlois was a force to be reckoned with.

"Miss Gorlois. How can I help you?" Gaius asked, turning from where he was sweeping away the implements utilised for Edwin's treatment with a flick of his wand.

Stepping inside the door, Morgana gave a momentary pause in which her hand drifted briefly towards a lock of dark ringlets that curled over her shoulder. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she tossed it over said shoulder and strode into with quick steps along the length of the room. "Sorry to intrude, Master Livingstone. I just wished to inform you that I've exhausted my supply of my potion and I shall be needing a refill."

Gaius nodded and turned immediately towards the other side of the room, starting towards the locked door beside his office that Merlin knew to be his medicine cabinet. "Of course. I should have recalled you were due for collection. I have a supply on hand if you'll just wait a moment." He unlocked the door with a tap of his wand and half disappeared inside.

"Thank you, sir," Morgana said, her voice cool and composed in a way that Merlin recognised as simply being a product of her personality. Just as, when she turned her eyes towards Merlin briefly and he was captured momentarily by pale eyes outstanding in their vivid greenness, she appeared to dismiss him as 'inconsequential'. Merlin didn't particularly mind. He was quite comfortable with speaking to people in general, would strike up a casual exchange with just about anyone who felt so inclined, but he felt no such urge to do so with Morgana. Something about her simply seemed superior to his plebeian status.

Morgana was Professor Gorlois' second daughter, the only one still in school since her elder sister had graduated some years before, and was distinctive for more than just her name. Merlin knew of her as much because of her role as fifth year Slytherin prefect as for her outstanding persona; not only was she incredibly intelligent, but she swept an intricate social dance with her peers that foretold of a future dextrously navigating the political world. Merlin wouldn't have noticed anything himself, would have considered her simply an elder student who did and would continue to have nothing to do with him, had not Cornelius whispered to him of an afternoon not three weeks ago as to her identity. That, and, with a noticeably awed tone, his breathed his admiration for her Bat-On skills.

"I've heard that Gorlois is an expert duellist because of her reflexes, which would naturally make her a good Bat-On player too," he'd whispered hurriedly into Merlin's ear with eyes fastened upon the subject of the conversation as she drifted down the length of the Great Hall away from them. "I just didn't realise she was _that_ good."

"Why? What did she do?" Merlin had asked curiously.

"She smashed him," Cornelius had whispered in reply. That note of admiration had doubled in an instant. "I mean, _annihilated_. Helios should have gone to the Hospital Wing for what happened to his face but he's too proud for that. Well, that and the fact that Bat-On is banned at school. I guess now we know why." Cornelius had nodded his head solemnly, eyes wide as he'd watched Morgana disappear through the doors of the Great Hall.

Merlin had followed her retreat too, shaking his head. Bat-On was a simple enough sport, involving the back and forth batting of a chosen spell over a magical net with increasing speed and the use of a hand-held _Protego_ charm. The trouble with it – and likely the reason for its being banned from Hogwarts – was that it was something of a matter of honour to choose a dangerous spell as the one used. Ultimately, damage, destruction and injury were the results of such play offs.

Apparently, Morgana had won. It said something of her reflexes, of her skill with defensive magic at least, that she had beaten Helios. In the most recent duelling competition – held for older students on a monthly basis under professor supervision – Helios had come out the champion. Evidently, he had done so only because Morgana had chosen not to compete.

As Morgana waited in detached silence not three paces away from him, Merlin considered that he could feel the intense energy and, yes, the superiority that radiated from her in physical waves.

Gaius resurfaced from the potions cabinet swiftly and, crossing the room, handed an unmarked bottle to Morgana. She, rightly enough, spared another glance for Merlin and Edwin as though accusing them of intruding upon a private exchange. Her composed expression altered only around her eyes and with only a slight narrowing of those eyes.

"Here," Gaius indicated, passing the bottle over. "One teaspoon at night before bed, as usual. See me if you notice anything that concerns you."

"Thank you, Master," Morgana said with a bow of her head. Then, without a backwards glance, she turned and swept once more from the room. Her robes billowed like voluminous skirts behind her and the door clicked with a shut following her passage.

Edwin, finally shaking himself from his stupor, followed shortly behind. Merlin frowned at the disgruntled expression upon his face; he had suspected from the other boy's expression when he'd evidently overheard Cornelius preaching Morgana's skills the previous week that he had disliked the older girl for some reason. He didn't know what possible reason he could have, however; true, Morgana appeared aloof and even slightly derogatory towards those around her, but that inattention was afforded inclusively. Though people appeared to flock to her, she didn't seem to rain cordiality upon anyone in particular. What possible reason Edwin could have to dislike her enough to provoke such a glare was a mystery to Merlin.

The door clicked shut once more as Edwin disappeared.

Glancing towards Gaius, Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Morgana Gorlois takes Dreamless Sleep potion?"

Gaius shot Merlin a frowning glance before sighing and shaking his head. "I should have known you would have recognised it."

"It's sort of distinctive when you know what to look for," Merlin agreed. His mother had mentioned it to him in passing at one point as she riffled through her own potions cabinet. The thin phial she'd held up for his scrutiny had glimmered a distinctly pearlescent purple. He wasn't aware of any other potion that resembled it, what with his modest knowledge of medical brews. "Does she have nightmares? Or trouble sleeping? Or is it recurring prophetic dreams? It's usually one of those three that it's used for, isn't it?"

Gaius spared Merlin another frown before shaking his head and turning away, making for his office. "Merlin, to tell you of such would be a breach of Healer-patient confidentiality. You know that. Cease with your incessant curiosity."

"Mum always says that curiosity is a good thing." Merlin slipped off the hospital bed and followed after his uncle. "Besides, you won't be telling me if I just happen to guess. You know, deduce from my wellspring of knowledge."

"Wellspring of knowledge?" Gaius paused in step in the doorway of his office and raised a speculative eyebrow. "Since when has your knowledge been in exceptional abundance, Merlin?"

Merlin frowned with what he knew was petulance and clicked his tongue. Only to grin a moment later when the struggle to maintain his supposed disgruntlement became too great. "You could seriously blow my confidence by saying things like that, Gaius. Aren't teachers and professors supposed to be all for 'positive reinforcement' and all that?"

"Positive reinforcement, yes, but also for informing ones pupils when they reach above their level of competency."

"You're avoiding my question," Merlin pointed out. The more Gaius denied answering him, the more he felt his curiosity grow. He didn't have any particular invested interest in Morgana Gorlois; he simply wished to know for the sake of knowing.

"Of course I am," Gaius readily admitted. He turned from Merlin and headed back inside his office. "And I shall continue to. You won't get a word out of me, my boy."

"This could assist my learning!"

"Hardly," Gaius called over his shoulder. "Leave it alone, for I won't tell you. Now come on, Master Wellspring of Knowledge. I have a batch of potions I wish to give you to take to your mother. Chop chop."

Laughing at the nickname, Merlin followed his uncle into his office. He did drop the subject, but only because he knew from experience that Gaius could be at least as stubborn as he when he wanted to be.

* * *

 

"Merlin, it's _so cold,_ " Gwen mumbled with a whimper from behind the folds of her scarf.

"Sorry, but it wasn't actually my fault," Merlin said easily, catching himself as his boots slipped slightly on the downward slope of the path beneath him.

"What? Oh, sorry, I did it again, didn't I? Force of habit, but I swear I'll crack it soon."

Merlin shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm kind of used to it." He was, after all. In the past few months, Merlin had come to expect that when people said his name it was as often in reference to his namesake, the all-powerful wizard of legend as much as history, as it was to himself. More often, usually.

"Do you find it gets annoying?" Lancelot asked at his other side. He tilted his head curiously, expression absent of anything but the kindly, good-naturedness that he was. Somehow, unlike Merlin, he seemed capable of trekking through snow and down the ice-slick footpath along the footpath from the castle without having to look at his feet. He didn't stumble even once.

Shaking his head, Merlin hunched his shoulders slightly to withdraw from the cold of the winter snow around them. "Not really. As I said, I'm kind of used to it."

"Still, I'd like to meet your mum, that she'd so name you. It's a little, ah… thoughtless," Gwen said, a sympathetic cast to her expression.

"It wasn't Mum who picked it actually. That was my Dad."

"Well, your Dad then. I'd like to meet him, too."

"You and me both," Merlin muttered. He felt a brief flicker of sadness, of regret and a familiar, stale anger directed towards the faceless man of his past, but it died quickly enough. It had been too long for Merlin to feel more than that for his absence, and absence that, for all he knew and all he expected, was most likely death.

Gwen immediately looked repentant. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." She hastened to apologise, which was an outright lie because Gwen pried shamelessly. "I mean, I knew you only lived with your mum, but I didn't – it was just an offhanded comment. Silly, it was silly –"

"Seriously, Gwen, it's fine. No harm done." Merlin offered her a smile as though to prove just how little her words had bothered him. "But speaking of which, you're more than welcome to come for a visit to my place sometime over Christmas if you'd like. I've written to Mum about both of you," he nodded towards Gwen and Lancelot in turn, "and I think she'd jump at the chance to have you over."

"Really?" Gwen beamed up at him and abruptly stepped closer to his side and – predictably – linked her arm in his own. "I'd love that! I've never been to Ireland before. I'll have to ask Dad, of course, since we'll be spending Christmas with Nan and Pop, but he might let us. Or me, at least."

"Elyan can come too if he'd like," Merlin offered, even though he was nothing if not indifferent to the Gryffindor boy. He supposed Gwen's brother was nice enough, but they'd had very little to do with one another besides the brief exchanges that were directed more towards listeners at large than any one person in particular. "I don't mind."

Gwen beamed even more widely. "Thanks, Merlin. I'll ask him when I find him on the Express. He's most likely going to be late, helping Dad carry all of his stuff, but I'll pass on the message." Merlin nodded in acceptance; it was common knowledge that wherever Gwen's father went he carried trunks and trunks of Muggle implements, many broken and useless from their proximity to magic but that he preserved as keepsakes nonetheless. Gwen had said that whenever she scolded him for his hoarding he simply claimed that he was keeping them to fix. That he _would_ fix them, definitely, sometime. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

Leaning around Merlin, Gwen peered up at Lancelot. "Would you come too, Lancelot?"

Lancelot shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'd be able to. It would cost a fair penny to take a flight to Cork from Norwich. I don't even know if they do direct transfers from there."

"Does it cost a lot more to fly in a plane that to portkey?" Gwen asked with genuine curiosity. She, daughter of the Muggle Studies professor and avid pursuer of anything Muggle-related herself, leapt at any chance to drill Lancelot with questions about his home life and the world he'd been confined to before coming to Hogwarts. Merlin felt his ears naturally adopt half-attentiveness.

Instead, he drew his gaze around the grounds of Hogwarts. They were halfway down the path from the school, heading towards the Black Lake where it wandered alongside before meeting up with the road that led down to Hogsmeade. A broken line of holiday-goers trailing trunks behind them stretched before and behind Merlin and his friends. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due to leave for another hour, but most students were heading down early to avoid the need to rush.

The surrounds were blanketed in a carpet of white, thick and icy and resistant to the swirl of chilled breeze that attempted to drawn the fallen snowflakes back into the air. In the distance, the Forbidden Forest was a contrasting picture of black shadows and draping, white-laden leaves. Merlin could just make out Seward's little stone cottage sitting on the edge, the coops behind it covered with a faintly glowing Insulation Charm as persistent as that which shrouded Collins' greenhouses. A curling plume of smoke spouted from the chimney and Merlin could just make out the figure of Seward himself as he skirted the cottage to return from those coops, two wooden pails clasped in each hand.

It was cold at Hogwarts, nestled as it was in the Scottish Highlands. Colder than it was in Ealdor over Christmas, though Merlin couldn't complain. He wasn't fond of freezing to death, but the cold surrounding him and brushing against his skin, creeping tentative fingers beneath his scarf and overcoat, was a reflection of the gentle pulsing of his magic in his core. He found it actually quite comfortable, even if it did set him to shivering and his teeth to chattering. In some ways it was even preferable to in Ealdor.

Not that he would remain on the grounds when the option to return home was offered to him. He sorely missed his mother, was desperately excited to see Will again, and had to smother his enthusiasm to maintain a sedate walk down to Hogsmeade because otherwise he surely would have lost his footing and skidded down the path rather than walking.

"… don't think it's really fair, you know? Muggles have enough to do with the Wizarding world, even without their knowledge, that they should benefit from some of the effects of magic too, don't you think?" Gwen was saying, speaking imploringly to a faintly smiling Lancelot. Merlin wasn't altogether surprised at her words. Gwen was the sort of person that was all for mixing the Muggle and Wizarding world, had something of an idealistic view of how it _could_ be, with the exchange of resources and 'benefits' as she called them. Despite living in Muggle London for most of her childhood, she seemed to overlook the fact that most weren't even aware of the existence of magic and would likely flee in terror from such a revelation.

"I don't really mind. It's what I've grown up with, so I just sort of accept it," Lancelot replied with a shrug.

"Well, you shouldn't have to. And neither should Muggles. Apparation and Portkey transport or even Floo travel is far faster than traveling by a vehicle. It would be like… like flying a broom when you could just zip yourself there immediately."

"Zip?" Merlin asked with a smile.

"You know what I mean. I just – Oh, look, there's Arthur. What's he doing out here all by himself?." Following the abrupt redirection of Gwen's attention, Merlin just caught sight of the Gryffindor boy when she called out to him. "Arthur! Merry Christmas! Have a nice holidays!"

Arthur was wandering with hands shoved into his pockets and hatted head downturned, blond hair just visible curling around the edges. He wandered by the Black Lake and didn't seem to hear Gwen at first. Merlin had a moment to wonder as to what he was doing by himself out there in the cold – though at least he wasn't walking too close to the shores, abiding the headmaster's warning to maintain a distance from the territory of the newly maternal sirens – before he raised his head and turned towards them.

For a moment, Merlin could swear their eyes met. Met as they were want to do whenever Merlin found himself in Arthur's vicinity. And, just as he hadn't since the Gryffindor quidditch match against Slytherin, Arthur didn't glare. He didn't even seem on the verge of glaring. Instead, as Merlin had beheld for weeks now, he appeared nothing short of thoughtful. Of contemplative. Occasionally disgruntled from the infrequent frowns that he adopted, but generally… neutral was probably the term that Merlin would use to describe it.

He couldn't meet Arthur's eyes for long, however, for a near slip drew his eyes once more to his feet. When he raised them once more, it was to see Arthur lift a hand and wave in response to Gwen's words, a wave that she returned heartily. Merlin was glad to see it. She had expressed her discontent over her brother's friend, her friend too, more times than he could count, and he had worried that her friendship with Arthur was jeopardised by that she shared with Merlin. Not that Arthur wouldn't have deserved it, if Gwen's grumbles were any indication, but he would have felt guilty nonetheless. Whether it was the merriment of the Christmas season or simply that she had finally pushed her disapproval to the side, Gwen appeared to have reaffirmed that friendship to a degree.

"I gave your present to Elyan to leave under the Christmas tree in the common room," she called, and Arthur only nodded in reply. The he turned and continued to trudge, head down, around the circumference of the Black Lake. He only glanced over his shoulder once more, and Merlin could have sworn that, once more, even over such a distance, he looked to him. And he gave a faint nod.

As Gwen continued to chatter, drawing Lancelot once more into a discussion of Muggle-Wizarding relations, Merlin considered that nod. For whatever reason, he felt like it meant something. Something more than just a nod. It took him a moment to realise what it was.

That slight inclination of his head, that affirmation, was the first gesture of positivity that Arthur had ever offered Merlin. Strange that, though Merlin had never sought any such response from the Gryffindor, had never considered he even wanted it, it felt somehow satisfying to have received it anyway. As he Gwen and Lancelot continued down the hill towards Hogsmeade, Merlin allowed himself a small smile.

Maybe he could take it as a Christmas gift of a sort?


	9. A Cure To An Ill

                                                                        

"He's starving you. Just look at you. Skin and bones!"

Merlin smirked at Will as he held Zee aloft in his hands, shaking his head over her squeaks as she seemed to reply to his words. He covered his mouth with the fingers of the hand propped under his chin when Will glanced briefly towards him but he didn't think that he did such a good job of hiding it.

"She's not starving. She's just skinny 'cause it's winter."

"Aren't they supposed to fatten up for the winter?" Will asked, clutching Zee to his chest and petting her with an air of protectiveness as though she were a child. Zee squeaked pitifully, though it was difficult to tell if it was in reply to his sentiment or an attempt to plead him to stop with the petting. Given she squirmed out of his hands a moment later and darted across the table to Merlin a moment later, he suspected the latter.

Shrugging, Merlin stroked Zee's head with a finger. "She was fat about a month ago. Now she's just got fat fur."

"See? Starving her."

"I'm not starving her."

"You are. What's he got you on, Zee? Crumbs of stale bread and mouldy cheese?"

Merlin sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation even as a smile played upon his lips. "Of course not. Mouldy cheese is toxic to rats anyway."

"Really?" Will's affront dropped instantly, discarded like the false mask that it was. "I never knew that."

"Really," Merlin confirmed. "And I'm _not_ starving her. The hardest part is making sure she doesn't gorge herself. You know I've had to fetch her from the kitchens three times already because she's gone roaming for a midnight snack?"

"You know where the kitchen are?" Will gave a broad grin, approval brightening his eyes. "I'm so proud of you. I read that the location of Hogwarts' kitchen was a secret. That only took you, what, three and a half months."

Merlin shrugged. "Less, actually. I found it in the first month." Which was technically true, even if it hadn't been him expressly who had found it. If there was one benefit from the incident with the glamored girl and the poisoned pumpkin juice it was that Merlin could spend Saturday morning at his ease in the bay beside the Forbidden Forest without the worry of skipping breakfast. "But when did you read anything about Hogwarts? I distinctly remember you teasing me when Mum got me _Hogwarts: A History_ last summer. What brought this on?"

Will resolutely folded his lips, a flush colouring he cheeks pinkly in a way that made Merlin's grin spread wider in triumph. He didn't have to reply, however, as Hunith came sweeping from the kitchen moments later, arms laden with a tray of jam tarts and three cups of tea, and spoke for him. "William has demonstrated a rather keen interest in Hogwarts since he's been receiving your letters. I believe he's changed his attitude towards the school somewhat in the last few months, isn't that right?" She glanced expectantly at Will as she placed the plate and cups on the table, who only flushed more brightly under her attention. "And Merlin, get Zee off the table, please."

"Sorry, Mum," he said automatically, sweeping Zee into his lap as he reached for a cup of tea.

"S'not so bad, I guess," Will muttered, accepting his own cup that Hunith handed to him with a nod of thanks. "Not as good as home schooling, of course."

"Of course," Merlin agreed easily.

"I mean, classes? And homework? Yuk."

"Definitely," Merlin agreed once more, very deliberately not reminding Will that he had his own classes of sorts and that his parents were somewhat exceptional in the amount of homework they demanded he complete.

"The castle's ridiculously big – or so I've heard – which is stupid because _surely_ the first years would get lost in it."

"Surely."

"That's to say nothing of all the people you can't escape from. You said yourself, Merlin, that in your first few weeks you felt like you couldn't go anywhere without someone watching where you were going. Horrible."

"Very horrible."

"Stop just agreeing with everything I'm saying," Will grumbled, scowling when Merlin flashed his teeth at him in a grin. "I know you don't actually."

Merlin shrugged and reached for one of his mother's jam tarts. What could he say? It was true that he didn't think as much, that though he missed home terribly, that he loathed Hogwarts for the distance it put between himself and his mother and friend, he didn't hate it. In many ways he had even grown to love it. Had grown comfortable within the grounds of the castle, had come to cherish the friends he was only growing closer to and the classes that had taught him so much already.

Not to mention that, despite his brief disagreement with some of his year mates at first, he was getting along with everybody relatively well. That was a sure sight better than what he'd experienced in Ealdor. There weren't all that many children around his age, and those that were disliked him. Though him strange as much for his wandless magic as for his general dislike of their exclusive attitudes. That dislike made day-to-day life difficult in a small town where the residents held their grudges long and made their feelings known through ways less overt that open arguments and fist fights.

"Well, personally I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself, Merlin," Hunith said with a smile that held only a flicker of regret. It was the same words she'd said every day since Merlin had returned for the Christmas holidays. "I think that we made the right decision."

Merlin nodded, offering a subdued smile in return that he hoped expressed his own regret as much as it did his appreciation of her support. He knew how hard it was for her though, even if he did still feel the pangs of homesickness every now and again, he couldn't say that he wished they hadn't made the decision to move him to school. "Thanks, Mum."

Hunith's face softened further still, and there was a moment of silence in which Will, realising the heaviness of the mood, shifted awkwardly and stared at the tart he'd claimed from the centre of the table as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Then Hunith seemed to shake herself out of her reflection and turned towards Will. "Well, I can hardly claim that I'm lonely without you here. William has been over to visit every other day, haven't you?"

Will glanced up from his hands and a flush flooded his cheeks once more. "I'm just bored, to be honest. There's nothing else to do and if I hang around at home then Mum will only make me do study." He paused and cringed slightly as he evidently heard his own words. "No offence or anything, Mrs Em."

"None taken," Hunith said with an amused smile. "How could I take offence when I so dearly appreciate your help with my baking?" She glanced toward Merlin and leant towards him conspiratorially, speaking in a stage whisper. "William has become quite the skilled baker, if I do say so myself. I must admit, it is a benefit having a replacement kneader in your absence."

Will flushed even deeper, spluttering in a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. "I'm not… I don't – I mean, it's not that I don't _not_ like baking or anything, but I don't exactly like it either. I mean I- it's not like I would if I had a choice." And he cringed once more as Hunith glanced towards him and raised an eyebrow. "No offence, Mrs Em."

"William, here's me thinking that you liked cooking those brownies on Halloween. I was certain that you were proud of them, what with how you asked me so desperately if you could take some home to your mother and father."

Merlin grinned as he watched his mother's straight-faced teasing. No one could quite tease like Hunith Emrys. She spoke with such sincerity that it immediately made any who suspected her guilt feel guilty in turn for their suspicions. He shook his head as he watched that very guilt spread across Will's face.

"I did," he said in a tone of resignation. "I was proud of them."

"And so you should be. And that's to say nothing of your bread-making skills. Why, I'd say you're almost up to Merlin's standard."

"Thanks, Mrs Em," Will mumbled grudgingly, though despite his embarrassment Merlin noted with a hint of his own amusement that he did indeed look faintly proud.

Before his mother could continue with her teasing, a chime rung through the house, tinkling off the walls from an unseeable source. Hunith glanced towards the living room and lowered her cup of tea. "Won't be a moment, boys, I'll just see who that is." She rose from the table and bustled into the adjacent room where the fireplace that the Floo alarm sounded from was secreted. Her muffled voice sounded a moment later.

"Your mum's brutal," Will muttered, stuffing the rest of his tart into his mouth and tossing Merlin a glare as though it were his fault that he'd so provoked Hunith.

"You're telling me. I've been living with her for thirteen years."

"Brutal, but not so bad."

Merlin opened his mouth to reply before closing it. The easy agreement settled upon his tongue but it wasn't really what he wanted to say. "Will. In your letter you said… about Bennie –"

Will flicked a crumb with admirable accuracy at Merlin's head. "It's not a problem, Selkie."

Merlin knew from the casual use of his nickname that it was anything but. "But in your letters… And when we saw them yesterday across the street –"

"I told you, not a problem. He's a bit of a prat, to be honest. I'm actually glad he doesn't want to hang out with me."

Merlin was silent for a moment, listening to the murmur of his mother's voice next door. From what he'd seen yesterday, it looked like something more than Bennie simply 'not wanting to hang out'. The glare he'd shot him, seeming somewhat forced, followed by a quick glance for approval towards the rest of the teens that slouched and watched casually half a block away, had been concerning. No, concerning didn't even begin to cover it. Merlin was actually worried about Will. And though he'd always had a bashfully fond relationship with Hunith, it was just as worrying that Will seemed to spend the time that he wasn't in his own home at Merlin's instead.

"Will," he began, but once more Will cut him off his a heavy huff that was more like a sigh than an exhalation.

"Seriously, Merlin, it's not a problem. I don't even mind being by myself that much." He reached across the table and poked at Zee nestled comfortably in Merlin's lap, her head just peeking over the edge of the table. "Maybe I should get myself a rat. I still never understood why Zombie chose you to look after her over me."

"Please don't call her Zombie," Merlin said with a sigh of his own. Though he wished to pursue the discussion he'd been having with Will – what had triggered Bennie's change of heart? Was Will being picked on by the other kids of the town? It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and seemed all the more likely when he was by himself rather than accompanied by Merlin to back him up – but he dropped the subject. He could recognise the closed cast to Will's eyes for what it was.

"Why? Zombie's her name."

"Because it's a horrible name! Look, she's flinching from you even mentioning it."

"She is not, she's just eating the crumbs you dropped into your lap."

"No, she's cringing."

"Zombie's a fantastic name. And true, to boot."

"It's so morbid, I don't even know –"

"No! No, you will _not!_ "

The whip-crack exclamation resounded from the living room like a bolt of lightning. Merlin's head snapped towards the doorway even as Will spun in his seat to do the same. Blinking in surprise, he hastily started to his feet and nearly ran into the next room. Will followed close on his tail but he barely even noticed. Merlin's mother never raised her voice – _ever_ – unless something was very, very wrong.

He paused three steps into the living room to see Hunith looming over the fireplace, her back ramrod straight and hands clenched into white fists at her sides. There was a ferocious glare upon her face that Merlin had seen so few times that it still had the power to leave him quaking in his boots, even when not directed at him. Will's whispered "Shit, what happened?" suggested he mirrored the sentiment.

In the fireplace, the flames crackling green and licking at his face, Gaius peered out up at her. He wore an expression of contrition that Merlin had never seen before and was apologing profusely. At least in a manner of speaking. "… reasonable, Hunith. I can understand entirely where you are coming from, and if you are truly opposed to me asking him then I won't –"

"You most certainly will not," Hunith seethed.

"- but understand I wouldn't ask unless I were truly worried. I merely thought it a possibility, but it seems my intentions may be a little presumptuous." He paused, then bowed his head. "I apologise."

Merlin stared. His gaze flickered in rapid switches between his mother and the fireplace, to Hunith and back again, in stunned confusion. For one, his mother was almost always calm, breaking from that tranquillity only when driven by concern or sadness. Merlin had never seen her angry before, not truly angry, and had only a distant and aversive recollection of raised voices that he had always assumed were countless arguments between his parents from when he was a child.

Secondly, Hunith and Gaius were practically father and daughter. They'd always had a fond relationship, a closer-than-master-and-apprentice bond, and Merlin had never seen them express more than mild frustration with one another before.

And thirdly… Gaius actually looked ashamed of himself for whatever words, whatever suggestion, he'd spoken. Gaius never looked shamefaced, was always confident in his verbalisations. It was part of the reason that he was at times so long in thinking before speaking. Merlin had never witnessed him showing evident regret for that which he had spoken before.

"What's going on?" He asked into the ensuing silence, the tension thick in the air. Gaius turned towards him briefly, eyes flickering in a flutter of green flames, but Hunith didn't move. She didn't even seem to blink. The only time Merlin had ever seen her even approaching such tension was…

Gaius gave a heavy sigh. "Merlin. How are you, my boy? I trust you've been well?"

Merlin nodded slowly, cautiously. He'd seen Gaius not even a week ago, when he and Alice agreed at the last minute to take Hunith up on her offer of sharing Christmas day with them. It was evidently a pleasantry, said with the intention of soothing the mood. "Fine, thanks, Gaius." He glanced towards his mother warily. "What's wrong?"

Sighing once more, Gaius shook his head. There was a hint of sadness in the motion, and Merlin realised at the same time that he looked worn. Tired, as though he'd endured several nights of minimal sleep. "Merely a situation with one of the students that I sought your mother's council for. I admit that I am at a loss as to how to proceed, and I thought perhaps she may have a suggestion."

"You are? _You're_ at a loss?" Merlin blinked. He'd never witnessed Gaius appear at at an end, not even with the poison that had infected half of the school two months before; even then he'd been able to counteract the symptoms. More than that, Merlin had never heard him admit it. It only added to his alarm and concern. "What's wrong?"

"A student," Hunith answered for her old master, finally turning towards Merlin, "has fallen into a magically induced sleep of sorts." Her gaze had softened as she turned towards Merlin, but only slightly, and he was given the impression that she very much maintained her anger. "Gaius is unsure as to the cause for it, and cannot seem to awaken the girl. He called upon me to seek my knowledge on the matter, or perhaps a second opinion."

"And?" Merlin asked, because that couldn't possibly be the entirely of the situation. His mother would have no reason to be angered by such a request.

"And," Gaius continued, "I requested _your_ support in this matter, Merlin."

Merlin blinked once more. "Mine? Why mine?" He glanced towards his mother, but she had turned a cool, hard stare back upon Gaius. "I doubt that I'd be able to do anything if you both couldn't."

"Except in this instance, I think you could," Gaius rebuffed. "I have felt around the source of the young woman's magic – the site that has been tampered with appears to be nestled about the hippocampus which would explain her induced sleeping – and it carried a… a similarity. A similar feel." He paused. "To your own magic."

Merlin frowned, sending a worried glance towards Hunith. "My magic? What do you mean by a similar feeling? What does that mean?"

Gaius opened his mouth to reply, but then paused and glanced pointedly over Merlin's shoulder. Towards Will, Merlin realised, who shuffled slightly under Gaius' stare. Hunith saw the glance and spoke with a cool reply. "William is as informed of the matter as the rest of us, Gaius."

"Ah," Gaius nodded. "Well, that's… I see." He cleared his throat. "When I refer to your magic, I mean the _feel_ of your magic. Of a specific part of your magic." He paused once more. "I mean your Gift."

Merlin felt a wash of cold flood through him, as though in direct response to mentioning _that_ magic. It began at his core, at the centre of his magic like always, and seeped outwards like the drainage of icy water. His throat tightened and it took several swallows before he could speak. "My… my Gift. You mean… you mean it feels Dark? Is that what –?"

"No, Merlin, that is not what I meant." Gaius shook his head in a swift jerk. "I simply refer to the similarity in impression I am given and wondered if perhaps your knowledge in the matter might lend a hand in this situation."

"My knowledge?" Merlin shivered under the intensified rush of cold through his body. "I don't have any knowledge. I don't – I mean, I can't – Mum, I don't know if I –"

"Calm down, Merlin. Calm." Instantly, Hunith dropped the coldly angry mask she'd presented to Gaius and hastened to Merlin's side. She raised a hand to his head and combed her fingers gently through his hair in a soothing gesture. When she glanced over her shoulder once more to Gaius, it was with a composed expression that had melted slightly from its frozen chill. "Gaius, you know he has not touched his Gift. He doesn't use it. You as much as I were the one who suggested that he leave it alone."

"I am," Gaius said, his voice heavy. "And I know. I apologise. I was merely seeking a possible answer to a situation I have little knowledge of how to respond to. The similarity of the impression that I felt, the impression of that which I admittedly have only felt on a magical level once from you, Merlin… it is indeed only similar and not the same. Not exactly the same." He shook his head once more, his eyes falling downcast. "No matter, I will look elsewhere."

"She's really sick, Gaius?"

Merlin couldn't help but ask, couldn't hold his tongue still from blurting out the question. He didn't know who is was, nor the information Gaius had gathered about the condition of the student, but if he'd claimed the magical feel resembled Merlin's Gift, that it had a hint of Darkness to it and had been desperate enough to ask Merlin for his support in something he _knew_ Merlin had no capacity to control… the situation must be critical indeed.

Gaius shook his head. "Not ill, no. But she could very well be. And her neurological decline – it has left an impression of a similar if not identical nature to that of your Gift, Merlin, which worries me. I dislike the shadows that cloak her mind and prevent me from urging her into awakening. I can feel the magical signature that is tied to it, but such will do me little good unless I compare it to the magic of the one who has inflicted the curse upon her."

"You know it is a curse, then?" Hunith asked, turning towards him. She still maintained the touch of her fingers upon Merlin's head, however.

"I do," Gaius nodded. "But it is of little use to me."

Hunith shook her head firmly. "If it is a curse, than it can be undone. You were the one who taught me that, Gaius."

"I did," Gaius agreed. "But I also taught you that such undoings are largely terribly complex or require a significant amount of strength. Sometimes both." He turned an admonishingly raised eyebrow towards Hunith, and finally he had reverted back to the Gaius that Merlin was familiar with. It served to ease some of the nervous chill that still throbbed through him. "Don't think I haven't tried to remedy the situation with brute force or magical untangling, Hunith. I have half a staff of experienced wizards and one very worried father and older sister who can provide such support."

"But do you have a match for you in terms of Healing magic?" Hunith asked. She continued before Gaius could reply. "No, I thought not. And there is your issue, Gaius. If I were there, we could pool our efforts and certainly overcome and such curse."

Gaius tilted his head curiously. "A pity you are not, then."

Merlin's mother sighed heavily and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, it was to look back at Merlin. "But I will be. I can be." Her voice held a faint waver that she evidently heard for her jaw tightened in response a moment later. "Merlin, you have the portkey your Head of House gave you, don't you?"

Merlin stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. His mind drew to the candlestick Dame Catrina had handed him to take him to Ealdor. It was triggered by invocation rather than time, this one, set to take him back to Hogsmeade with the word _"Portus"_ and currently slept cocooned in one of his robes in his trunk upstairs. "Yes. But you –"

"Then I shall come with you and we shall take the trip back to your school together." Hunith nodded firmly, though it seemed as much in an attempt to boost her own confidence as to indicate her resolution. She glanced back towards where Gaius's head still hung suspended in the fireplace. "We shall be there shortly, Gaius."

Gaius' expression had turned grateful, though that gratitude didn't entirely hide the upwelling of sadness and regret beneath. He dipped his chin in something that was definitely more a bow than a simple nod of acknowledgement. "Thank you, Hunith. I know how difficult this is for you, but know it is much appreciated."

Hunith opened her mouth to reply, but seemed to change her mind at the last minute. With a snap of her jaw, she pressed her lips firmly together and nodded shortly. As Gaius popped into disappearance she turned back towards Merlin. "Pack you things. Quickly, now. We'll leave as soon as you're ready."

Merlin stared at his mother, in the same state of shock that he'd fallen into the second that he had realised she meant she would accompany him back to Hogwarts. Or, more specifically, that she would use a portkey. He knew how much she feared them, how terrified she was of such complex and potentially disastrous magic. "Mum –"

"Quickly, Merlin. Quickly." And without another word, Hunith strode from the room.

Turning, Merlin caught Will's eye. He looked nearly as surprised as Merlin felt. That surprise rapidly descended into sorrow and despair, however, and his eyes dropped to his feet. "So you're leaving early."

Shaking himself form his own surprise, Merlin took a step towards his friend. As he clasped a hand to his shoulder, he cast a glance briefly around the living room. The cluttered furniture, the pair of couches that faced the fireplace, the mural of medicinal plants that his mother had painted along one wall and the scattering of books and parchments, of stray quills and half empty inkwells that lay about the room. He'd barely been home for more than a week, had only just begun to feel comfortable and to fully appreciate the house he'd grown up in instead of being afflicted by longing and the regret that he would be leaving it once more. And now he was leaving even earlier than anticipated.

Worse than that, he was leaving Will. Will, who seemed to so sorely miss him in his absence. Will, who seemed nothing if not the abandoned puppy, even more so in person than he had through the multitude of letters that Merlin had received from him. Not for the first time Merlin wished that Will was coming to Hogwarts with him, though this time as opposed to those before, it was less because he wanted the enjoyment of his best friend's company and more because he simply didn't wish to leave him behind.

Leaning into him, Merlin hooked his arm around Will's neck in a one-armed embrace. Will hunched, unresponsive for a moment, before wrapping both of his arms around Merlin and squeezing him back. Zee, pressed between then where she hung from Merlin's shirt, must have sensed the sudden heaviness of the mood for she didn't even protest at being squished.

"I'll see you for Easter, yeah?"

"You'd better," Will muttered into his shoulder. "It'll be a bloody boring Easter if you don't come. I'll expect my chocolate delivered by you in person."

Merlin gave a faint huff of laughter that didn't hold all that much amusement. The coldness of his magic that had flooded through him at his momentary panic, at Gaius' words and the mention of his Dark Gift, had rapidly faded to be replaced by a different kind of coldness. Of regret, and guilt. "Okay. I'll get you a giant egg this year."

"Bigger than last year, mind."

"Why does it have to be bigger?"

"Because apologies for abandoning me should always make things bigger."

Merlin didn't even have the heart to object to Will's reasoning. Especially since it was, admittedly, true; he was sort of abandoning Will. Again. "Alright. Bigger and better."

With a final squeeze, they loosened their embrace and Merlin stepped around him. As he hastened through the dining room towards the stairwell, he was paused in step by Will's called words. "Make sure you write to me! You were getting a bit lazy coming up to Christmas."

Merlin smiled sadly, glad that Will hadn't followed him from the living room to see the expression. "I will," he replied, and nearly tripped as he continued up the stairs two at a time. It was annoying, a pain, and utterly unfair that he had to leave Will early when they'd had little more than a week to spend together – a week where Will had been at his side for just about every second they weren't sleeping, and even sometimes then – but it was necessary. Merlin wasn't quite so heartless as to put his own needs before that of a sick girl. Besides, it wasn't like he had much of a choice in the matter, even if he had. Hunith had decided, and if there was one thing that Merlin knew he had inherited from his mother it was her determination in pursuit of a decided goal.

* * *

 

By the time they stepped into the Hospital Wing, some of the colour had finally begun to return to Hunith's cheeks. Merlin was grateful for that. Since they'd arrived in Hogsmeade, landing in a shower of snow with Merlin nearly pulling himself, his mother and his trunk to the ground as he wavered to regain his balance, he had worried for a moment that she might faint.

She hadn't. With that resolute determination, his mother had straightened her spine, clenched her fists, and started down the street of Hogsmeade without another word. Merlin had nearly had to run to keep up with her quick step, dragging his trunk behind him with Zee squeaking indignantly from her cage with every jostle.

Merlin left his trunk beside the door as they swept down the Hospital Wing. There could be no confusion as to who Gaius was referring two, who the student was that had fallen prey to whatever magical attack had induced a potentially dangerous sleep. Only one bed was occupied and clustered around it were Gaius, Professor Gorlois, an unfamiliar woman with long blonde hair and distinctively kohl-lined eyes, and, surprisingly, Edwin. Merlin didn't know what his year mate was doing in the Hospital Wing but he disregarded his curiosity to turn his attention towards the patient.

He could have guessed from Gorlois' presence that it would be Morgana. Morgana, the aloof, disdainfully distant fifth year girl who seemed just as composed and aloof in sleep as she did awake. She lay utterly still beneath a thin blanket, dark ringlets arranged neatly around a face blank and devoid of expression but noticeably pale. She looked nothing if not to be sleeping, perhaps even to be pretending to sleep, and Merlin could almost have believed it if not for the memory of Gaius' words.

That, and the faint flicker of magic that surrounded her, as magic was always felt in a trace upon being cast if one was looking closely enough. That magic, he realised as he squinted at it, was almost familiar. Familiar, but –

"Hunith," Gaius welcomed her with a nod and a faint smile. "Thank you, my dear, for coming so swiftly."

Merlin's mother only nodded, seemingly incapable of smiling as of yet. She glanced briefly towards Gorlois and the blonde woman who, Merlin suspected from the resemblance she had to his professor, must be at least a relative of Morgana's and most likely a close one.

Though Gorlois had barely raised his gaze from his daughter at Hunith and Merlin's arrival, Gaius saw his glance and spoke for him. "Hunith, this is Garret Gorlois, Morgana's father and professor of Charms at Hogwarts. And this is Morgause, his eldest daughter. They have both, on numerous occasion, linked with me to pool our magics in an attempt to alleviate the curse that has settled upon Miss Gorlois, but…" He trailed off and looked towards Morgana in an expression that said "well, you can see how successful that was".

Hunith nodded once more. Then, just as Gorlois and Morgause disregarded her, she seemed to do the same to them. Stepping up to Morgana's side, she leant over her slightly and peered into her face. "Do you mind if I perform a Diagnostic Spell?" She murmured with what Merlin recognised as being the detachedness of a Healer's concentration. It was more of a statement than a question, Hunith merely informing those around her of what she was going to do.

Gorlois, for perhaps the first time that Merlin had even seen, appeared physically agitated. Even frustrated, though that frustration was likely driven by the mounting worry that widened his eyes and furrowed his brow. "Gaius has already run numerous diagnostics. Surely you could use his results?"

Gaius explained the need for personal analysis with a Healer's own magic, necessary to "truly understand the status of the situation" while Hunith, disregarding Gorlois entirely, drew her wand and muttered an incantation beneath her breath. Merlin watched her closely, worried for a moment. It had been so long since he'd actually seen his mother perform anything more complex than a Heating Charm, a _Lumos_ , a Summoning Charm, that he wasn't sure she would manage. And yet she had paused only briefly, barely noticeably, before casting. Releasing a breath he hadn't known he held, he stepped back from Morgana's bedside and edged to Edwin's side, the other boy suitably unobtrusive a bed's distance away.

They all watched with bated breath for a moment as nothing seemed to happen. Then Hunith straightened and glanced towards Gaius. He stared at her expectantly, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robes. "It's definitely a curse, isn't it? One I've never seen before. It looks almost like a bug of sorts, what with its size and the way it's scuttling around to evade my prodding." She glanced briefly back towards Morgana, her face crinkling into the frown that Merlin recognised as her Healer's face. "Who have you had take a look at it? Who have you linked with?"

Gaius gestured towards Gorlois and his daughter. "Garret and Morgause, both individually and together. Alice on several occasions as well as the headmaster himself and the deputy." He spared a glance towards where Merlin and Edwin stood side by side. "Mr Muirden has even assisted on several instances; he has offered his services as an assistant this holidays. But…" Gaius shook his head, his own brow furrowed with concern, and Edwin fidgeted as though bashful.

Hunith lifted a hand to her chin and stared with her own frown down at Morgana. Merlin could almost see the wheels of her mind turning, flicking through the list of possibilities and solutions that were filed away in her head. "Perhaps I could have a closer look at the magic as well, Gaius? If we pull it to the fore then we may be able to untangle it, the two of us."

"Gaius has already tried that," Gorlois interrupted, his usually placid tone tight. "It did no use, not with myself or my daughter or even the headmaster linked –"

"Yes, but none of you are trained Healers and learned in the way of removing curses with a medical hand," Hunith interrupted him, and the stare she turned upon him, deceptively bland, Merlin recognised all too well. He would have immediately fought to bite his tongue upon seeing it.

Gorlois evidently realised the same, for he silenced immediately. He did edge forwards, however, as Gaius and Hunith linked hands over the prone Morgana and closed their eyes. Merlin watched intently, eyes flickering from his mother, to his uncle, to Morgana, as he felt the upwelling of familiar magic in use flutter into existence. His mother's cool blue, Gaius' vivid green, interweaving and coiling and braiding, before to his magical eye they appeared to plummet and dive into Morgana.

A moment later, they drew forth the shadow of the tangled curse, exposing it more visible like a wound before them all. And Merlin –

Merlin's eyes widened and he caught his breath. A wash of ice water rushed through him in shock and he could only stare at the mess of the curse with his onlooking magical senses, stunned. And confused. And just a little horrified. Then he turned slowly, slowly, to stare wide-eyed at Edwin.

Edwin's gaze was fastened sharply upon Hunith and Gaius, more attentive than was usual for him. His dark eyes flickered unblinkingly, with barely visible wariness, and to any other observer he might have seemed studiously attentive, even concerned for the success of the untangling attempt that Hunith and Gaius were struggling to perform.

But those observers probably weren't all that familiar with Edwin's magic. Not like Merlin was, who had cast spells alongside the other boy every day for the past three months. None of them would have recognised that the colour of the smothering shadow that had been exposed on Morgana's mind resembled his exactly.

Before Merlin even considered what he was doing, he grabbed Edwin's arm, ignoring the startled yelp that he spluttered, and hauled him half the length of the Hospital Wing. No one noticed their departure save for Morgause who only spared them a keen glance before turning back to her sister. Merlin drew them to a stop beside one of the windows that overlooked the school grounds and all but slammed Edwin into the wall alongside it.

Not even bothering with a Muffling Charm, Merlin hissed furiously at the other boy. "Edwin, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

Edwin blinked up at him for a moment, startled, then his face fell into a very telling blankness. "What are you talking about, Merlin?"

"Don't, Edwin. Just don't. Come on, I'm not blind. I can _see_ your magic!"

Edwin's eyes flashed for a moment, then he glanced along the length of the room towards the collection of wizards and witches huddled around the hospital bed. He pressed his lips together for a moment then, drawing his wand so swiftly that Merlin didn't have time to even think about responding, he muttered a spell. Thankfully, it was only a Muffling Charm.

He folded his arms tightly across his chest and turned a full glare upon Merlin. "It's none of your business, Merlin."

"None of my – Edwin, you cursed Morgana! Gaius seemed to think it was really, really serious. She could be seriously hurt by it. What were you thinking? Why would you even -?" Merlin cut himself off, but only because he could hear his voice growing louder and louder, could feel the unravelling of coldness in his chest.

"You don't understand," Edwin said through gritted teeth. "You don't understand, Merlin. She deserves it."

"How? How does Morgana – someone I know for a fact you've never even spoken to – deserve to be cursed? Do you actually want to, I don't know, kill her or something?" He paused, then his eyes widened as a thought struck. "Is that why you've been helping out in the Hospital Wing? So you could curse her? So you could curse other people too?"

Merlin was almost glad for the _Muffliato_ Edwin had cast around them. His voice had taken on a shrill note, slightly panicked, that would have certainly alerted the rest of those in the room to their conversation. Edwin started at his accusation, flinching away from Merlin into the wall. Then he scowled, lip curling. "No, I don't want to curse everyone. I don't want to curse anyone but _her_."

"But why?" Merlin could hear the desperation, the incomprehension, in his own words. His teeth were fastened painfully into his lip.

"Because she deserves it! Or at least her Dad does!"

"Why? What could he possibly have done to you –?"

"He killed my parents!"

Merlin froze. His heartbeat thumped in his temple, breath slightly ragged and audible to his ears. He stared unblinkingly at Edwin, the other boy's face flushed around the scar that covered half of his face and eyes shiny with tears. It was more emotion than Merlin had ever seen from him before. He looked torn between savage fury and heart-wrenching grief.

"Wh… what?"

Edwin's bottom lip trembled slightly and he dropped his chin to his chest, eyes glaring at the floor. "None of your business."

"Edwin –"

"I said it's none of your business, Merlin." His words were biting, clipped, his tone forbidding. "So stick your nose out of it."

Merlin stared for a moment longer, his hands systematically clenching and unclenching as he fought to calm his racing thoughts. _Gorlois killed Edwin's parents? What?! How could that even… surely not, he couldn't have…_ He swallowed, hardening himself. "It might not be my business exactly, Edwin, but I care about Morgana. Or at least I care that there's someone you've cursed who could suffer for what you've gone and done. You either tell me what's going on or I'll… I'll…" He glanced in the direction of the crowded hospital bed and hardened himself further. "I'll tell them it was you. I will, I swear I will."

Edwin raised his gaze and the betrayal in his eyes made Merlin flinch. "I hate you."

Merlin had to forcibly extract his teeth from his lip to reply. "It doesn't matter. You can hate me if you like."

Even though he glared with continued heat, tears still swimming in his eyes, Edwin finally seemed to deflate. He slumped back against the wall, head falling back and jostling on the windowsill. He heaved a sigh that was almost a sob. When he spoke, it was quiet enough that the _Muffliato_ likely wouldn't have been necessary. "He… Gorlois, he used to be an experimental Charms Master. He had a business, you know. The Gorlois Research Institute?"

Shifting awkwardly – Merlin wasn't sure if he was ready to hear Edwin's story or not, despite the fact he'd asked for it, but knew he had to listen – he nodded. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He hadn't known that Gorlois had been an experimental researcher himself but he could see how it would fit nonetheless. Gorlois wasn't the Charms professor for no reason.

"My mum and dad used to work for him," Edwin continued, voice a low murmur. "Mum studied Healing charms, worked to try and refine them, but Dad was more on the explosive side of things. He liked fire. Mum always used to laugh and call him a… a _pyromancer."_ Edwin gave another choked sob that might have been a fond laugh if not for the misery that muffled it.

Misery that turned to an accusing glare as Edwin drew his gaze along the length of the room and speared Gorlois savagely. "Gorlois funded this idea of Dad's. He pushed him into it, said that the idea of this fire magic that Dad was playing around with was really something. It burned brighter, hotter, and lasted longer. It was…" Edwin's bottom lip started to tremble once more. "It was him that put the idea in Dad's head. It was because of him that Dad took his experiments home and b-blew up our house. The fire was hotter, and it did burn better. Way better."

Edwin raised a hand to touch his cheek, fingers digging into the faintly silver scar on his right cheek and leaving scratches from his fingernails. Merlin realised for the first time where it was truly from. Did Edwin… had he been…?

His thoughts were answered a moment later. "I was the only one who made it out alive, and mostly because I was playing outside at the time the house exploded." Edwin paused, his glassy eyes becoming distant and horrified as though he was seeing the destruction of his life before him once more. "It only burned my face, but it… it killed my mum and dad. I was five, but I can still remember it. I can still remember all of it."

Merlin was silent. He didn't know what he should say, what he _could_ say. What did one even say to someone who was reliving the brutal death of their parents, a death that had left more than just a deep physical scar upon him? It was horrible, horrifying, _unfair_. No one should have to go through that.

"That's why," Edwin continued, his voice dropping to a croaking whisper. "That's why Gorlois has to pay. I've waited for years – _years_ – to get back at him. I studied Mum's work on curses until I finally found something that would fit perfectly. Something that would bring me justice. He took my parents away from me, so he should have to suffer the same." By the end of his rant, voice picking up pace, Edwin was spitting. Flecks of saliva dotted his lips and he snarled as he glared at Gorlois with such fury that Merlin was almost surprised the professor didn't combust where he stood.

Shivering at the forcefulness, at the bitterness and hatred, Merlin unconsciously took a step backwards. How had he not noticed it? How had he not seen the bubbling hatred Edwin so evidently felt for Gorlois? The pain that he still felt with such rawness? Was Edwin really so practiced at concealment, really so good at deception and masking his emotions, that no one had noticed?

And then he stoppered the flurry of questions running through his mind. Merlin could understand, from an observer's perspective, as one who hadn't truly experienced anything comparable, where Edwin's fury came from. His hatred, for hate he certainly did. Edwin had lost his family and he wanted to blame someone for it, someone to pay. And yet, even with that understanding, the sympathy that tightened his chest…

Merlin knew it was wrong, and not only because vengeance wouldn't heal anything. He knew it wouldn't make things better, not really, and that it couldn't act as the justice that Edwin so desperately sought. Edwin would only grow more embittered, more hateful. He had an enemy, a face to pin his blame for wrong that he'd suffered. But making his enemy suffer… it wouldn't be enough.

Merlin had made that discovery years ago. Years he had known that there was a difference between vengeance and justice. It was the only reason that the children who had so hurt Will, hurt him in the incident that had eventually founded their friendship, still survived to this day.

So, hardening his heart, biting back his upwelling sympathy and stemming the anger at Edwin's actions – how could he, Edwin, have acted to so aggressively hurt someone? – Merlin spoke. "Edwin, it wasn't his fault."

Edwin's gaze snapped up towards Merlin. Shock was quickly replaced by betrayal once more. "How can you say that? How can you -?"

"You're angry. Obviously. I can't say you're wrong to be because you're allowed to be angry after everything that's happened, but it's wrong. Or at least it's misdirected."

"Shut up, Merlin," Edwin spat. "How could you – how could you even _say_ that? After what I just told you, how could you –?"

"Gorlois wasn't the one who – who killed you're parents." Merlin fought the urge to cringe as he spoke the words, even more when Edwin visibly flinched in a whole body spasm. "It wasn't him."

"Yes, it was!"

"No, Edwin, it wasn't. It was an accident."

"An accident that wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for _him_!" Edwin flung his arm in the direction of the Charms professor, his voice a storm of pain and desperation. His expression, though still wrought with betrayal, held a distinctly pleading cast. " _He_ was the one who told him to do it. _He_ was the one who suggested he play around with it further. If it wasn't for _him_ –"

"Yeah, if it wasn't for Gorlois hiring your Dad and paying him to do what he wanted to do then maybe it wouldn't have happened." Merlin's interruption was a struggle to override Edwin's tirade. He felt his frustration warring with unshakeable sympathy, the pity and sadness for the other boy who had never quite been his friend. "It's not fair, Edwin, I know it's not fair to you what happened, but you can't just blame him for what was an accident."

"It wasn't an accident," Edwin persisted.

"It _was_. But even if it wasn't," Merlin raised his voice to overrode Edwin's attempt at interruption once more. "Even if it wasn't, it still wouldn't make cursing Morgana the right thing to do. What, did you actually want to kill her? Is that what the curse does? Will it really kill her?"

Edwin's sudden silence was answer enough. His eyes, swimming with anger and pain, finally let loose their tears. They spilled down his cheeks, trickling over the red marks his nails had made in his skin to drip from his chin. His bottom lip was trembling once more, and Merlin had a moment to consider that that second, twisted with grief and sadness, with hatred and vengeance, was the most expression he'd ever seen from Edwin before.

He took a deep breath. _Why is it that I'm the one who has to deal with this? I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing._ He was confused, was terrified, and more than that he hurt. No, Edwin wasn't his friend, not really. He'd never seemed eager to develop anything even vaguely resembling a friendship. But he was still the first person who had spoken to Merlin, who'd _really_ spoken to him. He'd been the one to explain about the professors, to walk him through an orientation of sorts on his first night. And yes, he was sometimes almost cruel in his disregard for those around him but he was still someone that Merlin was, in some way, fond of.

Merlin didn't want to get him into trouble. Even after Edwin had done something wrong – something horribly, terribly wrong – Merlin didn't want him to be punished. And not only because he did care for him in a way, even if it wasn't exactly as a friend. Edwin had been to hell and back, had been living with a deep, relentless pain and hatred for years. He shouldn't have to suffer more.

The two of them stood before the window halfway along the Hospital Wing in silence, staring at one another. Merlin doubted that Edwin even really saw him, though. His face was twisting and flushing, paling and crumpling, a riot of ever-changing emotions. Every so often his eyes would flicker towards Gorlois, towards Morgana and the attempt at untangling the curse that, as far as Merlin could discern from the tension thrumming through Gorlois and his daughter, was as of yet unsuccessful. In Edwin's gaze there resurfaced with each glance that long-held hatred, the hatred that he had somehow concealed for years under Gorlois' tutelage.

Merlin took a deep breath. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to be the one that _had_ to say it, but he couldn't leave the situation untouched. And if he left it to anyone else… he doubted that someone like the headmaster, or worse, Gorlois himself, would be quite so forgiving.

"Edwin," he began, keeping his voice low and struggling to maintain a cool calmness. The chill of his magic twisting in his chest helped, soothing him as it so often did. "I'm only going to ask you once. Please, please, take the curse off Morgana. From what I can gather, it's not going to untangle unless the caster does it themselves."

Edwin slowly turned his gaze towards Merlin from where he'd been glaring along the length of the room once more. He was still crying in silent tears and there was as much wetness dribbling down his face from his nose as there was from his eyes. Those eyes narrowed, and Merlin could see the resistance building in them.

"Please, Edwin," Merlin hastened to add. "Please, just take it off. I don't want to, but I'll tell them if you don't. I'll tell Gaius, I'll tell my mum, and I'll even tell Gorlois if you don't."

Edwin's lip curled in a snarl. "As if you won't anyway if I do."

"I won't," Merlin said immediately, firmly, without a second thought. It was only after he'd said as much that he realised it was – stupidly, ridiculously – true. "I won't tell them. You've done the wrong thing, Edwin. A really, really wrong thing. But I… I guess I can understand why you did it –"

"No, you can't."

"- and even though it's cruel, and unfair, and… and… and you _cursed_ someone, I don't want you punished for it." Merlin swallowed thickly. He tasted a hint of blood and it was only then that he realised he'd bitten through his lip. "I don't, Edwin. I really don't. But I'll tell them if you don't take it off."

Edwin's face had dropped its scowl. Incrementally, it faded into a blank mask that was in many ways worse than all-out anger. The heat and betrayal still swirled in his eyes though, focused on Merlin and broken only by the continued torrent of tears. "I really hate you, Merlin."

Merlin nodded, though he felt his throat tighten. "I figured."

Edwin stared a little longer. Stared as though gauging the determination behind Merlin's words. Then, without another word, he pushed himself off the wall and strode at a near run from the Hospital Wing. The slam the doors made behind him was loud enough to draw the momentary attention of Gorlois and his daughter, even if Hunith and Gaius didn't glance up from their focused work.

Merlin stared after him. Had he failed? Had Edwin really left without taking the curse off? Merlin had been almost certain – or perhaps it had been simply desperate hope – that he could convince Edwin to remove it; regardless of his hatred, he didn't believe the other boy was a cruel person. Just terribly hurt and terribly wracked by grief and anger. Merlin felt a tide of resignation and sorrow pour through him as he realised he would have to tell someone. Maybe he could tell Gaius and he could convince Edwin to take it off? Or his mother? She was always –

"Ah!"

A cry of triumph from the other end of the room, the usually mellow voices of Merlin's mother and uncle both combined into loudness. Gaius spared a moment to glance towards Gorlois, who had started forwards to his side with his elder daughter in tow at their exclamation. "We've got it, Garrett. I don't know why, but it is as if the hold of the curse suddenly loosened. We'll be able to remove it."

Gorlois released an audible breath of relief that gushed from him like a gale. By his side, Morgause closed her eyes, the tightness in her shoulders loosening slightly.

"You'll be able to completely remove the curse?" Gorlois asked.

"We should be able to," Gaius confirmed, his attention already fastening back upon Morgana as the glow of blue-green magic that was settled upon her hastily worked at unravelling Edwin's curse. "Pray that we'll be able to extricate it all without leaving any lingering effects."

Gorlois said something else, his daughter commenting right on his tail, but Merlin barely heard it. Sighing, he stepped forwards into the space Edwin had vacated and rested his head against the frosty coldness of the glass window. Edwin had listened to him. He'd done it, had removed the unshakeable hold of the curse – the bug, Hunith had called it – even as he'd stormed from the room. Which meant…

_I don't know what he'll do. I doubt this will be the end of his anger and hatred, or his attempts at vengeance, but it will do. For now. I won't have to tell anyone. I won't have to turn him in._

Although, Merlin reflected, he would have to take responsibility for his silence and the secret he intended to keep hidden. With a sigh, opening his eyes to peer out the window, Merlin resolved to keep an eye on Edwin in future.

It was by chance that he saw Arthur through the window. He knew it was Arthur even with the detached distraction of his mind, even with the distance, because _of course_ it would be Arthur. It was entirely by chance that the window he peered through afforded a wide view of the Black Lake. And it was only by luck that he could make out, through the frosty opaqueness of the glass, exactly what was happening.

Merlin didn't pause. He didn't even glance back towards the group of witches and wizards at the other end of the room, didn't call a brief exclamation to indicate his departure. He simply threw himself from the Hospital Wing with the speed that he could somehow only accomplish when he was pushed to sheer panicky determination. It didn't even cross his mind that someone else would have been able to help him. To help _Arthur_.

Because, dammit, Arthur had gotten himself into trouble. Again. Serious trouble. And for whatever reason, it appeared that Merlin had to be the one to pull him from that trouble. Again.

_Why is it always me?_


	10. Temptress

                                                                       

Arthur's Christmas break was one disappointment after another.

Firstly, all of his friends left the school. All of them. Well, not some of his 'holiday' friends, who he found companionable enough, but Leon, Elyan and Percival all disappeared with apologies and explanations that they had places to go and relatives to see.

Then, for Christmas, his father had gifted him and a veritable bookshelf of novels, a new set of quidditch gloves, a pair of dragon hide boots – because his latest growth spurt had resulted in his toes butting against the end of his old ones – a sneakoscope and a new holster for his wand. Arthur wasn't complaining, he really wasn't, given that all were items he both wanted and needed. But what he'd really wanted was a broomstick; since the incident with Valiant at the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, his old broom had been rendered useless from magical tampering and he'd been required to use one of his older models instead. Arthur had wished Valiant could be expelled all over again for that.

And then Morgana, the person he'd been – begrudgingly – spending most of his time with in the first days of the holidays, had fallen ill. Seriously ill. A curse of some sorts by some unknown assailant that had rendered her unconscious in an induced sleep of which not even Gaius could drag her from. Arthur had known Morgana since he was born, the older girl the daughter of his father's closest friend, and though he found her tiresome in her sarcasm, ridiculous in the aloof and apathetic façade she presented towards the world, he was still fond of her. It worried him that someone had cursed her into a serious state. Worried him even more that someone had managed; Morgana was more than competent at defending herself from a magical attack. How had it even happened? It must have been a backhanded attack; that was the only thing Arthur could consider possible.

All in all, coupled with the fact that Morgana's curse had set a very definite dampener upon the mood of the school as a whole – it had become very subdued at mealtimes in the Great Hall over the past few days – Arthur was not enjoying himself. Not at all. It didn't even help that finally the older boys who had attempted to assist him with Morris earlier in the year had finally knocked him down a peg and the Ravenclaw boy had deigned to send Arthur a formal, written apology for his behaviour. Just as a proper pureblood should.

Yet even that victory tasted faint stale on Arthur's tongue.

He'd spent as much of his time outside by himself as he had in the company of others over the past days. Finishing his homework was easy enough – Arthur knew he was an exemplary student in all but perhaps Potions and Herbology – and he'd found himself nothing if not _bored_.

That was how, for the nth time that week, Arthur found himself wandering along the edge of the Black Lake. It was crisply cold outside though snow was not quite falling, and Arthur was glad both for his layers of thick robes, scarf, hat and gloves as well as the Warming Charm that buzzed with a pleasant heat beneath his clothes. It meant that he could trudge around the edge of the lake for hours should he choose to without the need to seek shelter to defrost his frozen extremities.

Arthur hadn't ever spent much time around the lake before. His outdoor enjoyment usually took the form of flying around the quidditch pitch, or engaging his friends in a snowball fight or, should the urge take them, building an army of snow goblins. He wasn't one to stroll with aimless sedation around the shores of an icy lake, breathing in the thin, crisp air and gazing out across the reflective blackness that remained undisturbed, glass-like but for the occasional breeze that sent ripples dancing in faint trembles across the surface. Arthur didn't go too close to the water, abiding as always by his father's precautions to stick well clear, but he still found the proximity oddly calming. It was as though the silence resounded with his magic, somehow stilling the discontent within him.

It was the day before New Year's Eve, a day that Arthur anticipated to be as flat and lacking in festiveness and joviality as the past days had been. He didn't resent the fact that the mood of Hogwarts was so sombre - not really. Truly, he was worried for Morgana as much as the next person. More, even. He'd visited her every day until he was shunted from her bedside by the objectionable and ridiculously overprotective Morgause. He wanted her to be well, to recover, and felt a bursting fire of rage erupt within him whenever he considered that someone had cursed her and potentially gravely injured her. But even so… it would have been nice to enjoy the holidays just a little bit.

Arthur was striding with his head downturned, eyes locked upon his feet and impressing his footsteps with unnecessary force every step, when he heard the scream. It echoed across the flat plane of the lake, battering at Arthur's ears as though the screamer stood right beside him. Snapping his chin upwards, Arthur whipped his gaze around himself, raking over the thin shadows of the forest lining the lake before turning to fling a hasty scan over the lake itself. And there he saw her.

He couldn't identify the girl at first. Not from such a distance but more because of her flailing and twisting. Flailing _in_ the water of the half frozen lake, where she had somehow managed to throw herself. The splashing of her struggles added a bass to the shrillness of her cries.

Arthur was running before he was even aware of it. Pelting around the lake, leaping over the jagged rockiness of the shoreline, he drew towards her with flying speed. What was she doing? How did she end up in the water? What was she even doing so close to the water to fall in there in the first place? Arthur found himself almost angry and frustrated as he was worried. What _foolishness_ had driven the girl to get so close to the water? Didn't she remember what Arthur's father had said about the sirens?

Even with that thought, Arthur didn't pause as he skirted around the lake to the shoreline closest to where she flailed and leapt into the water. He didn't pause, not even to cast a Repulsion Charm on himself to keep the icy water from seeping immediately through boots, socks and robes. His breath was momentarily lost, _whoosh_ ing from him with the sudden chill at his momentary submersion and instantly eliciting a whole body shiver but he strove to ignore it. Arthur could hear the words of the cries now as he broke once more through the surface, heard the pleas for help, could make out the words that were barely comprehensible through the girl's gurgling.

"Help! Pl-please help me! I can't – I can't swim, I can't –"

Arthur startled as he heard the words, making out the voice and recognising it immediately. It sounded like Sophia Tir-Mor, the Gryffindor girl from his year who lived practically attached to Vivian Rani's hip. His suspicions were validated when, in another spray of splashes, the girl managed to claw her way high enough out of the water once more and loose another shriek for help.

It was definitely Sophia. Definitely.

"Sophia! What the – What are you –?"

Arthur didn't finish his shout, as much because he choked upon the reprimand that longed to blurt forth as because he realised an instant later that Sophia wouldn't reply. That she likely couldn't, even if she had heard him, and that there were more important things to consider in that moment. Like saving her life.

Plunging forwards, careless of the water that weighted him down and was already numbing his fingers and toes, Arthur submerged briefly before kicking to the surface and throwing himself into hard strokes. It was bitterly cold, the iciness stinging in biting splashes across his face, flooding into his mouth and attempt to freeze off his ears. He ignored the cold as best he could, eyes affixed upon the struggling girl a ridiculous distance before him. Sophia had somehow managed to throw herself far from the shore, which was likely why she was drowning in the first place.

He reached her after what seemed an exceptionally long swim, battling through the water and pulling up short to tread water with difficulty. His sodden clothes, his heavy boots, weighed him down more noticeably now, but he fought against the force that threatened to drag him downwards. He had to hold up a hand to protect his face from the splashing of the flailing girl before him.

"Sophia! Sophia, stop struggling! I'm trying to help you, but I can't if you don't just – _hold still!_ "

Lurching through the water, he reached outwards and clasped a hand around the girl. With a tug, he dragged her towards him. Thankfully, she ceased her attempts at keeping her head above the water as soon as he touched her. Quite the opposite, in fact, she became instantly limp. Her sudden heaviness, the lack of buoyancy, was almost as hard to manage as her struggling.

Arthur took a hold of her other arm and drew her closer to him. He shook the girl slightly, attempting to rattle some sense into her. The sodden mass of her golden curls turned dark by the water covered her face completely, and Arthur nearly lost them both beneath the icy surface once more for his attempt at scolding.

Choking around a mouthful of sharply clean water, he kicked his feet with a struggle. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed? It's freezing in here!"

Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Sophia raised her head. A sickly pale arm – likely half frozen from the cold – raised to brush the curtain of her hair from her face. And when she peered up at Arthur, it was to offer a smile that was nothing like the giggling, blushing girl he knew. It was vague, and distant and… faintly triumphant.

The pieces clicked into place rapidly, one at a time in quick succession. The distance Sophia was from the shore. The irrationality of her being in the water at all. The fact that Sophia shouldn't even be at school in the holidays.

The fact that she wore nothing but what appeared to be a summer dress in the middle of winter, the thin material swirling like pale algae around her.

The fact that Arthur – who usually prided himself on being level headed in surprising situations – had rushed headlong to her aid without considering the fact.

And the fact that freshwater sirens, unlike their cousins, were based just as much in illusionary magic as they were with the magic of song.

The second the thought occurred to Arthur, wading through the fogginess of cold that squeezed his mind, Sophia's face changed. It morphed, fading like a potion shimmering from one colour to the next in barely-discernible stages. It aged into a woman of maturity, becoming more angular, eyes flooding from iris, sclera and pupil into full blackness. And then the girl – the creature, the _siren_ – opened her mouth and she sung.

Arthur should have acted faster. He should have thrown himself from the creature the instant his suspicions had arisen. Sirens were territorial at best, even worse when they were nesting over a new princess. But he wasn't fast enough. He got as far as releasing his freezing fingers from their clasp on the creature's upper arms before the lullaby of ethereal music pervaded his numbed ears and he felt himself slump like a rag doll. The coldness of the water embraced him in a mimic of the arms the siren that drew to wrap about his chest. He slipped beneath the surface of the water without a struggle.

Somewhere in the back of Arthur's head, he was bellowing his anger, just as loudly as he screamed in terror. He had foolishly fallen into the clutches of a siren and had rapidly become helpless to it.

Yet the larger part, the more consuming part of his mind, drifted in bliss. In comfort and release, simply… letting go. It didn't matter that he couldn't breathe, that his lungs had ceased in their attempts to inhale with the urging melody of the music that still played in a shimmer of whistles and wind chimes in his drowning ears. It didn't matter that his body had become heavy, rigid, immobilised as much by the cold as the enchanting song. It was only distantly concerning that the darkness of the lake around him grew deeper and deeper as the light at the surface grew further away. He felt his eyes drift closed; the hold of the siren's pale, smooth arms around his chest was comforting, the sort of embrace he imagined a mother might give their child.

It was almost too easy to just let go. To close his eyes and give himself over to the cradling music and completely ignore the distant cries to "Resist!" and "Fight back!" that pounded away at the back of his mind. He didn't know how fast he was dragged under, how long he'd been submerged and the tightness in his chest that was mildly concerning to him wasn't cause enough to consider it further. TO grasp a hold instead of letting go. To just…

Easily…

Too easy…

Until a sudden blast of cold that shot past him was glacial. It was cold, colder even than the surrounding water. It would have frozen Arthur if he had not already been mostly there. The song of the siren shrieked, a warble of shattering mirrors that was so jarringly contrasting to that of the gentle lullaby that Arthur's eyes snapped open painfully. Another blast of _too cold_ lanced past him, and this time Arthur could make it out visibly in the surrounding darkness.

Ice. A shaft of solid ice, spearing through the water beside him like a flung anchor. Another dropped past his other side, barely visible from his periphery, then another, and another just above his head. The siren gave a further shriek, something that sounded more like a high-pitched roar of fury, and then the crushingly tight hold – it really _was_ too tight, not gentle at all, _how_ had he thought it was _gentle_ – was gone. It was gone and –

Arthur was all too suddenly aware of the burning sensation in his lungs, even as what remained of his vision began to fade.

He couldn't even struggle. He couldn't bring his arms to attempt to reach for the surface, to draw himself from the bottomless depths of the lake. He was frozen, he was breathless, and the inhalation of icy water burned but provided no release. The last of his vision faded from view just as he saw the darkness of a diving shadow fall towards him from above.

Through the blackness of semi-consciousness, Arthur felt a hand clasp his wrist. A hand that grasped and dragged and drew him upwards. Before he could discern if the hand belonged to friend or foe, the last of his awareness faded and he fell into black oblivion.

* * *

 

He was warm.

That was the first thing that Arthur noticed. That he was warm, and dry, and blessedly he could breath again, though he wasn't sure immediately why such things were quite so important. He took a deep inhalation to confirm once more the fact for himself before he even attempted to open his eyes. When he did, it took several blinks to clear the blurriness of his vision, to adjust to the glare of sunlight bathed him and brightened white walls.

The Hospital Wing. Arthur knew where he was from the second he caught sight of the rafters criss-crossing the ceiling and the faint smell of potions on the air that he'd always associated with cleanliness. Which meant that he was sick. Or injured. Or… or something.

 _Or recovering from a near drowning with a siren_.

The voice whispered on the edge of his consciousness, faintly reproving and sounding far too much like Morgana for his liking. But regardless of the identity of the voice, Arthur immediately felt himself thrust completely into alertness.

The siren. The Black Lake. Sophia who wasn't Sophia, and the coldness, and the darkness and… and…

And the ice anchors that had driven the siren away. The hand that had grasped him and dragged him. To the surface.

Who…?

Blinking, Arthur pushed himself up in his bed. In the hospital bed, actually, the relative hardness of the mattress informing him that it was far from his own four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory as much as the actual knowledge of his location. He felt stiff, as though his muscles had been tensed for too long, and it was with a muffled groan that he managed to push himself fully up to sitting.

"About time you woke up. You've been asleep for hours."

Arthur immediately spun his attention to the left, to the bed alongside him. To the dark-haired girl who slumped with casual elegance upon a heap of too many pillows that were certainly not afforded by the Hospital Wing and stretching languidly beneath her blankets with the presumptuousness of a queen upon her throne. The rest of the room appeared empty, but she was more than presence enough to fill even its furthest corners.

"Morgana!"

"Very observant of you, Arthur. I'm glad to see that you're brief brush with death hasn't addled your senses." Morgana paused, frowning slightly as she drew her gaze to the side in consideration. "Or at least addled them further. It would surely take a fool to go for a swim in the Black Lake at this time of year, to say nothing of the sirens that you were _told_ about."

Arthur had so many things that he could have said to that. Said with indignation, and bluster, with scathing indignation. It wasn't his fault. He had been trying to rescue someone. He had stayed the recommended distance from the Black Lake and yet still evidently had been close enough to be captured by the charm of the siren's illusions, enough to appear to pose a threat to their territory. _It wasn't his fault_.

But what came out was instead, "You're awake."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Very good, Arthur. You're putting your observation skills to practice. I'm so proud of how you've grown."

This time, Arthur didn't feel the least bit inclined to withhold his disgruntlement. His mind was clearing, sharpening, the surprise at seeing his friend alive and well again fading under the sharpness of her insults. "I see you're certainly making up for the speaking time you've lost while you were sleeping the holidays away."

Morgana didn't rise to the bait. She simply nodded and gave a small shrug. "I do feel as though I have been denied an opportunity. So many people I could have drawn from their happy buzz as they attempted to celebrate the redundant tradition of Christmas."

"Oh, believe me, you were there in spirit. Your dampening of everyone's fun was certainly felt."

"How so?"

"Your father made sure of that. He's been a black cloud for the past week. Everyone's walking on tiptoes around the castle."

Morgana gave a slow, wide smile, as though she had just been handed the most wonderful news. It didn't make Arthur feel any happier to see knowing that few enough people in the word ever saw Morgana truly smile in something other than condescension. "Really? He did that for me? What a wonderful Christmas present."

"You know, sometimes I wonder what sick, twisted fairy exchanged the real Morgana with a changeling when she was a baby," Arthur grumbled, slumping back into his own pillows. They weren't nearly as thick and plush as those Morgana rested upon but he fought against the childish envy.

Morgana waved the words aside. "I'm hardly a changeling, dear Arthur. Father always says that I reminded him exactly of Morgause when she was my age."

"Yes, but Morgause is the devil incarnate."

"She'd take that as a compliment, you know."

"As I'm sure you do being compared with her."

"Naturally," Morgana said with a nod.

Arthur rolled his eyes, shaking his head as they subsided into a brief silence. Not a long silence, though, before Morgana, with her incessant nosiness that was so carefully concealed from most of the world, prodded him once more. It was only a matter of time before their mutual muteness was broken anyway, by Arthur himself in his curiosity for Morgana's own situation as for Morgana with her own. "So. What happened?"

"What do you mean what happened?"

"Don't be obtuse, Arthur," Morgana said with a slight frown. "It's unbecoming, and makes you appear even stupider than I can assure you I already wholeheartedly believe you of being."

Arthur glared at her sidelong. "You know, offending me will hardly make me want to answer your questions."

"On the contrary, I've found it has always worked before."

"Not this time."

"Don't make me drag it from you."

"Like you could. What, are you going to hex me?" Arthur smirked. "Last time we fought at less than a duel it was pretty close. I don't think you'd manage this time around."

Morgana sniffed, lifting her chin proudly. "That was merely because you fought so unutterably underhandedly, Arthur."

"And you didn't?"

"Not in the slightest. I always play by the rules."

Arthur snorted. "Maybe when the professors are watching, but only then. Come on, give it your best shot."

"You know I've been learning Legilimency recently." Morgana raised an eyebrow and gave a smirk of her own when Arthur turned incredulous eyes towards her. "Morgause has been teaching herself and then teaching me. I've gotten quite good at it and I'd wager I could pull the real story right from your head if I wanted to."

"You could not," Arthur said disbelievingly, as much because he wanted to believe his own words as because he did.

"I could. I warrant I could even break through those pathetic Occulmency shields you've being trying to learn to build."

"They're not pathetic," Arthur grumbled, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. Whether Morgana really did perform Legilimency on him or not, she had set her sights upon dragging the story from him and would persist in nagging him for it until he folded. Sometimes it was just easier to back down and provide a hint of the truth than to have the actual story torn from him.

So Arthur told Morgana. With as much skirting around his foolishness – which he would never admit to doing – that he thought he could get away with, and speaking only the bare minimum in his recitation. When he finished, he folded his arms across his chest and lifted his own chin, challenging Morgana to object.

She stared at him long and hard, her gaze flat, before answering. "You. You really are an idiot."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Thank you for your opinion, Morgana, unwanted as it is. It will be noted and ignored."

Morgana shook her head and rolled her eyes, though Arthur considered it was less because of her words and more because of the sentiment she still persisted with. "Honestly, such an idiot. What were you even doing down by the lake in the first place?"

"I was just going for a walk," Arthur said defensively. He knew he was pouting, but it didn't really matter with Morgana as the only one to see him.

"Walking?" Morgana raised her eyebrow again. "Just walking? Since when do you do anything as sedate as 'just walking'?"

"Shut up, Morgana. I was bored."

"Bored enough to potentially endanger yourself?"

"I told you I wasn't close enough to get even be noticed by the sirens. I made sure of that," Arthur replied, exasperated.

"Well, evidently you were. You'll have to tell Uther about that, if your pathetic attempts at judging distance aren't the root cause for your near disaster. Right after you thank Merlin."

"I don't have a 'pathetic' ability to judge distance," Arthur muttered. Then the rest of what Morgana had said caught up with him. "Wait, Merlin? You mean Merlin Emrys?"

Morgana studied her fingernails nonchalantly. Somehow she always managed to make it appear as though she was actually more interested in her cuticles than in the person she was ignoring. "Do you know of another person who has the misfortune of carrying that name?"

Arthur brushed aside her rhetorical question. "Why would I have to thank Emrys?"

Morgana regarded him with a sidelong stare before heaving an exasperated sigh that was far too expansive for the situation. " _Obviously_ because he was the one who saved you."

Arthur blinked. "Emrys… saved me?"

"Yes. Somehow, he managed to see you down at the lake and got there in time to chase the siren away before it dragged you into the depths, never to be seen again."

Arthur blinked once more and turned away from Morgana to frown down at his lap. Emrys? Emrys had been the one to save him, to shoot the ice magic at the siren and chase it away? He hadn't even known that Emrys was at Hogwarts again, had seen him leaving with Gwen and that Hufflepuff, Dulac, a little over a week before. How had he…?

 _That's the second time he's saved you_ , a voice whispered in the back of his head. An annoying, smirking and reprimanding voice who similarly dredged up a sea of memories of every time he'd glared at the Slytherin boy over the past months, scowled at him, insulted him for his stupidity to his friends and, because she was practically _asking_ for it, Gwen. Unfortunately, this time those memories brought with them an upwelling of guilt.

Emrys. Emrys had saved him from the siren.

And he'd also, in a way, saved him from Valiant's attack on the quidditch pitch by telling him of the intended actions of the Slytherin captain.

And – well, it wasn't specifically Arthur who he had saved, but he'd also demonstrated exceptional valour in facing the strix at the beginning of term, not to mention discovering alongside Professor Livingstone the reality of the poisoned juice that had been sickening so many of the school's residents.

Why? Why was it always Emrys? Why did he seem to make it his goal to disprove everything Arthur accepted as the norm for Slytherins? Morgana didn't even manage that; Arthur had resignedly come to accept his friend's sorting in the two years that she'd attended Hogwarts before him but only because he knew, deep down, that Morgana was fairly typical of a Slytherin. She was ambitious, and cunning, and, though Arthur was her friend in spite of it, he couldn't deny that at times she could be downright mean.

Not even Morgana was an outlier, aligning wth rather than disproving the conceptions he'd formed of Slytherin. Why did Emrys have to be so different?

A sharp sting to his cheek shook Arthur from his thoughts. With an exclamation more surprised than pained, he clapped a hand to his cheek and snapped his attention to Morgana once more. "What was that for?"

Morgana, wand out and spinning it end over end between her hands from where she'd evidently struck him with a mild hex, regarded him flatly. "I know what you're thinking, Arthur. Stop it."

"Stop what?" Arthur scowled.

"Stop coming up with excuses not to do it." She folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

It took Arthur less than a second to realise she was right. That unconsciously, before he'd even realised he was doing it, Arthur was coming up with excuses not to thank Emrys, even knowing that he should. That, in anyone else, he _would_ have thanked them.

Except that, of course, anyone would have saved someone in need, and that didn't make Emrys exceptional.

That had he known it was Arthur he was saving, he probably wouldn't have done it. Emrys disliked Arthur just as much as Arthur was disconcerted by him. His careless use of insults in every exchange they'd had was proof enough of that.

That thanking Emrys would be as good as admitting that Arthur had been helpless, and that was something that went so against Arthur's character that it almost hurt to consider.

That he couldn't, he wouldn't, he shouldn't. The list extended, becoming more and more outlandish and unreasonable as he thought, ranging from the consideration that, had their roles been reversed, Arthur wouldn't expect any gratitude himself – even though he knew he realistically would – to it being sorely embarrassing, or even that Emrys would probably have forgotten about the incident entirely by the time he even got around to it.

That last even Arthur had to admit was a little foolish. Who could forget something like that?

Another sting struck him on the cheek. "Ouch! Dammit, Morgana, would you stop that!"

"Only as long as you swear that you'll thank him," Morgana replied, arms folding across her wand once more.

"Why do you even care about some sorry Slytherin kid?" Arthur asked, and he knew he was pouting again, but the situation was just so _annoying_.

"In case it has escaped your notice, Arthur, I myself am a Slytherin."

"It hadn't," Arthur growled. "You only remind every chance you get." That was the truth, and Morgana delighted in it. Much to Arthur's – and his father's – initial shock and horror, both Morgana and her older sister had been sorted into Slytherin house. Not only was it surprising in that they, who mixed with the Pendragons who were practically the icons of Gryffindor, would be sorted as such, but even more confusing because both of their parents were Ravenclaws in their time. Garret was even now the Head of Ravenclaw House.

Morgana smiled. It was a dangerous smile. "Of course. I'm proud of my house and my sorting."

"I can't understand why," Arthur muttered, barely above a whisper. He held up a placating hand when Morgana lifted her wand to hex him once more. "Alright, alright! Why do you even care, anyway?"

Morgana lowered her wand once more. "Well, let's just say that I find myself with something of an invested interest in Merlin Emrys."

"What? When? Why?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "When? About three hours ago when I woke up and realised that the witch who had helped Livingstone shake the curse that was put upon me was his mother. And why? Well, other than the reason that I just gave you, I have to admit that he interested me after witnessing him drag you sodden and half-dead into the Hospital Wing only moments after I'd woken up myself."

Arthur blinked. The mental image of himself, limp and helpless and being… being _dragged_ by Emrys anywhere was horrifying. He hated appearing weak, hated _being_ weak. And Emrys, who had already helped him out once before for some unknown reason, had been the one to see him like that.

It was nothing short of humiliating.

Arthur was so distracted by his brooding, by his inward cringing, that he barely even registered what Morgana had said about her revival. It fluttered past him on wings of recognition, and he gave a mental nod at their passing: Morgana, curse lifted, good. Then he went right back to brooding.

"You're not getting out of this, Arthur," Morgana interrupted his thoughts. "I won't let you. I'm intending to make myself familiar with Merlin when the opportunity presents itself and I will be asking him."

"Oh, I believe you," Arthur sighed. He had no doubt that Morgana would stick to her word and would make sure that he expressed his gratitude. He didn't quite know where her sudden interest had come from – the explanations she had given him fell short somehow, as if there was another element that he was missing – but he didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He simply thoroughly wished that Morgana would just stop talking about Emrys because, as always happened, whenever he came up as a topic of conversation, of consideration, Arthur inevitably found himself falling into confused thought patterns as he struggled to accommodate the boy-anomaly.

"Arthur? Don't ignore me, Arthur," Morgana was saying.

He'd missed half of what she'd said, but he didn't think it would take much of a stretch to appropriately guess her words. "Okay, Morgana. I'll thank him. I will."

"You'd better," Morgana said with a curt nod of her head. "Now, fill me in, would you? I've missed over a week and I'm feeling very much out of the loop. I know that most everyone went home for Christmas, but I still think…"

Arthur tuned out Morgana's words as she fell into talk that was more of a conversation with herself than with Arthur. And he thought.

The worst part, he considered as he slumped back into his pillows, was that he didn't even have a solid reason to object to Morgana's demand. Not anymore. Because really, Arthur had come a long way since actually disliking Emrys over the past weeks. Since the quidditch match, actually. Maybe even before that a little.

That was probably what made it all the harder. He knew and admitted, for one of the first times since he'd realised the reality of his understanding of pureblood superiority, that he was wrong.

The guilt and regret, to say nothing of the embarrassment, made the approaching profession of gratitude taste sickly on his tongue.

* * *

"And down, and up, then a twirl of a flourish to complete the gesture. The flourish _must_ rotate in a clockwise direction, otherwise the incantation will be rendered redundant."

Arthur's uncle beamed around the third year classroom, raking his eyes over Gryffindors and Slytherins both with a keen eye that refuted the kindliness of that smile. Agravaine was like that, Arthur knew from experience. Not that he'd never seen a problem with the kindly façade that he wore, but he was aware of it nonetheless.

They were practicing modified Reinforcing Charms, self-directed and crafted to be aimed at oneself to thicken skin or, in the even of wearing armour, to make such armour all the more durable. The charm itself was modified from that used to reinforce magical buildings that would otherwise collapse from the sheer impossibility of their crafting, and if that didn't give Arthur confidence in its strength he didn't know what would.

Far from attending to Agravaine's words – of Professor Debois as he was supposed to call him during school hours – Arthur found that for once his attention was thoroughly diverted. Away from Sophia Tir-Mir, who he still couldn't look at without an upwelling of uneasiness, and focused upon someone else particularly. Just as it had been for the last three days that school had resumed.

It was Emrys that he peered at while very determinedly pretending not to.

Emrys, who in turn seemed to be listening to Debois with only half an ear. His attention was turned more fully towards something that he was doing on his desk, some twitching of fingers that Arthur recognised as being his habit when casting wandless magic.

"You're doing it again."

Arthur turned to glance towards Leon at his friend's whisper, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Glaring. You're glaring at Emrys again."

Arthur blinked, then frowned. "No, I'm not." He truly wasn't. He knew for a fact that he wasn't because he felt no inclination to glare, to express his dislike towards Emrys. He didn't feel dislike, not anymore. Confusion, yes, frustration, certainly, but dislike? No, he didn't think so. Not anymore.

"Arthur, you always glare at him. And I know you won't tell me why he seems to annoy you so much – I'm not asking, so there's no need to hound on me again – but really –"

"Leon, I'm not glaring."

"- I mean, Gwen seems to think he's nice enough, and he did help us that day with the potion –"

"Honestly, Leon, I'm not."

"- so would it be such a hard thing to give him a chance? Or at least to lessen off a little bit –"

"De Grace, do you have something to say to the class?"

Leon's whispers were cut off my Debois' words, and he glanced up at him with cheeks flushing slightly and dropped his chin. "No, sir. Sorry, sir."

Debois nodded shortly, gave a short smile that Arthur knew he wouldn't have given to anyone but a Gryffindor after delivering a reprimand. "Very well, then. If you'll all spread out across the room; working in partners please. One will observe while the other casts. Reflection statements as to your own and your partner's progress will be expected by tomorrow."

There was a scuffled of feet, a scrape of chairs and the entirety of the class spread out in their pairs. As usual, Arthur fell into place beside Leon while Elyan worked alongside Percival, and they quickly began their attempts. And Arthur to glancing with what was definitely not nervousness over his shoulder towards the Slytherins who had very deliberately placed themselves across the other side of the room.

Maybe he was a bit nervous. But no, it was more embarrassment than nerves, he was sure. Arthur knew he had to thank Emrys, and not only because Morgana had threatened him into doing so. Over the past week, he had reached the conclusion for himself, and as always when he had both identified his own wrong and made a decision, he was determined to stick to his resolution. And Arthur had realised, had decided, that Slytherin or not, confusing and frustrating and… and… and _insulting_ as Emrys could be at times, Arthur was going to let go of his residual dislike for him. That he would make the exception for him as a Slytherin, just as he had made one for Morgana, because this Slytherin in particular was an exceptional case.

He doubted they'd ever be friends but… well, something less than enemies might be a possibility. Regardless of the fact that Arthur didn't even know if Emrys had ever seen him as an enemy, because maybe he called everyone prats and asses to their faces? Arthur liked to think he wasn't exceptional himself in that regard. And he would start with turning things around by saying a simple thank you.

If only thanks were ever simple to convey.

Strangely enough, as though fate had twisted to allow it, the opportunity presented itself midway through the lesson. It was just as Debois had stepped briefly into his office – possibly to take a swig of a Calming Draught as Arthur knew his uncle frequently did when teaching – with a word to "watch yourselves and your partners and protect them if need be" when it happened. Because of course it would happen then. If an incident was going to arise in class, naturally it would be when the professor was out of the room.

It was an explosion of unexpected proportions that should _not_ have arisen from a simple Reinforcing Charm. A desk on the Slytherin side of the room splintered and shattered, sawdust immediately springing into the air and dangerously jagged spears of needle-sharp wood sent flying. Several voices shrieked and more than one person dropped to their knees with their hands covering their heads.

Debois was striding back into the room before the brief plume of dust had dispersed. His eyebrows were drawn down low, lips downturned and eyes roiling in a thundercloud. Arthur guessed that he likely hadn't had the opportunity to take the Draught. "What happened here? Explain."

The question was barked to the room at large, but Debois' eyes swept immediately to the Gryffindor boys. Or, more correctly, to Arthur. Arthur knew he was favoured by his uncle, knew too that such favouritism was inappropriate and likely would have vexed him twice as much had anyone else been the subject of it, but he let it die. At least in this instance he could use it to his advantage.

Because Arthur had been looking at Emrys'. Through the settling dust, he had seen the brief expression of horror, the flash of guilt that had swept briefly across his face and then the instant arousal of terror he'd turned towards Debois as the professor had burst back into the room. Arthur couldn't help but sigh in exasperation; Emrys was an idiot, no doubt about it. Maybe not a cruel, cunning or particularly devious idiot as most Slytherins were, but an idiot nonetheless. The explosion of the desk likely had something to do with the wandless spell that Arthur had noticed he'd been attempting to cast throughout the entire lesson, even when he was supposed to be attempting the Reinforcing Charm.

Emrys was an idiot, and Arthur would have been angry rather than exasperated had someone been hurt. But no one had, so he could use the opportunity it provided.

Adopting a contrite expression and lowering his chin slightly, Arthur returned his attention back to his uncle's expectant gaze. "I apologise, Professor. I simply wished to test the strength of the Reinforcing Charm myself and… well, as you can see, it got a little misdirected." He tucked his chin further. "I sincerely apologise for my actions, sir."

Debois was silent for a moment, and from his falsely-sheepish peering Arthur could make out a flicker of surprise, a brief moment of disapproval, then the smoothing of his uncle's brow as he nodded. "Well, so long as you understand that you were in error, Pendragon. See that you do not repeat your actions."

"Of course, sir. I will learn from my mistake." He spoke mechanically, the words he knew were expected as both a student and a pureblood, and was rewarded by the faint upward tilt of Debois' lips and a curt nod.

_I wonder how severe the punishment would have been had I allowed Emrys to take the blame for it?_

Shaking his head to disregard the passing thought and pointedly ignoring Emrys – for he knew that the other boy was staring at him and didn't want to meet his gaze just yet – Arthur turned back towards Leon. Only to find a similarly unnerving expression on his friend's face.

"What?"

Leon stared a moment longer, then shook his head. "Nothing, just…"

" _What_?" Arthur repeated with a heavy sigh.

Shrugging, Leon raised his wand and pointed it at himself in the position assumed to reattempt the Reinforcing Charm. "I guess you weren't glaring after all."

Infuriatingly enough, Arthur had no reply for his words.

It wasn't until the end of class that Emrys confronted him. After class, really, and it wasn't even much of a confrontation. Arthur likely wouldn't have noticed his approach had he actually been listening to the words that Leon said to him. He did slow in step, however, upon meeting Emyrs' gaze where stood unobtrusively just inside the door. He stared at him for a moment, and Emrys stared back. There was a touch of curiosity in his expression; Arthur wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing.

He didn't say much. Just one word, and it was barely audible over the clamour of departing students, the call of Arthur's friends as they filed through the door glanced over their shoulder in the corridor to realised he wasn't with them. "Thanks," was all Emrys said, but somehow it seemed to say far more than that.

Arthur stared at him for a moment before slowly dipping his chin in a single nod. "You too."

Emrys cocked his head to the side, something that could have been the beginnings of a smile touching his lips. It was the first genuine attempt at such an expression that Arthur had seen from him, free of any hint of mockery or ridicule or teasing. A moment later he nodded his reply and slipped through the vacated doorway. Arthur followed a moment behind, and very deliberately ignored the questioning glance Leon cast between himself and the Slytherin boy disappearing down the hallway alongside the Bast girl.

It might not be of equal value. Arthur wasn't so caught up in his own embarrassment and desperation to avoid expressing gratitude that he could see that standing in for a potential scolding was hardly the equivalent to saving a life. But it was a start. He would get there. Maybe.

And maybe it would get Morgana off his back too. After all, he _had_ apologised.

Sort of.


	11. Loud Girls and Quiet Boys

                                                                       

Even seven floors above the Great Hall, Merlin swore he could still hear the shouts and exclamations of excitement from his fellow students. Far be it from the enthusiasm mellowing with each quidditch match, if anything it seemed to grow only more intense as the season progressed. After the Christmas break and a brief period of stasis, the return of the games was met by excitement and jubilation.

Merlin didn't care. The game between Ravenclaw and Slytherin could go either way, could last a minute or a day; it hardly mattered to him. And he'd be damned if he was going to go and watch another game.

Gwen had pleaded with him to join her in the stands alongside Lancelot, Sefa and the surprisingly loyal Freya who, for some reason Merlin couldn't make out, seemed to demonstrate a particularly avid inclination towards watching quidditch matches. Or anyone in flight, Merlin had discovered upon seeing her staring with wide-eyed wonder at Lancelot of a Saturday morning when he and his friends had wandered down to the pitch in search of the Hufflepuff boy. She said it was because she was so incompetent on a broomstick herself that watching anyone else was akin to a miracle to her.

Merlin had declined Gwen's attempts to draw him into accompaniment that morning, much to her frustration. Or sadness, depending upon how easily one fell beneath the illusion of her façade. Merlin, with his experience of months as her friend, did not, and saw her disgruntlement for what it was.

"Why won't you just come down? It's not like I particularly enjoy it either, but it's funny to watch."

"Fun? I can't imagine staring at people in the distance whizzing through the air on broomsticks and trying to chase balls would be constituted as fun," Merlin had replied. "At least not to me."

"I didn't say 'fun'," Gwen had clarified deliberately. "I said 'funny'. Sefa and I a long time ago discovered that the best way to endure a quidditch match is to people watch."

Merlin had raised an eyebrow at that. "People watch?"

"Mm," Gwen had nodded with a cheeky grin. "I don't watch the _quidditch_ players exactly. It's much more fun looking at everyone else and seeing them all get so weirdly excited about the match. Some people do act rather strange. You know, in last match Sefa spotted a Gryffindor first year boy get so enthusiastically into his cheering that he passed out." Seemingly torn between concern and amusement for the fainting boy, Gwen had shaken her head. "It wasn't even a Gryffindor match!"

Shaking his own head in amusement as much as denial, Merlin had persisted with his dissention. "I'll pass, I think. Honestly, I don't know why _you_ want to go so badly."

"I don't want to go 'so badly'," Gwen had said, tweaking her fingers in little air quotations for emphasis. "I just feel like I have an obligation to watch them because Elyan's on the Gryffindor team. You know, family commitment and all that."

"Tough luck. See, this is why I don't have siblings."

"Oh, and I'm sure you very deliberately made sure you didn't have any _on purpose_. Yes, I'm sure it was entirely your decision." Gwen had smirked with a crooked smile as she teased him. "But regardless of whether they're a benefit or not, I do have an obligation. And the more the merrier, I always say. We could make a party out of it, all five of us. Mixed houses and all."

Merlin had fought the urge to submit to Gwen's guilt tripping. The worst part was that she was entirely genuine in her desire to be surrounded by her friends – friends that she had mostly made only that school year yet seemed to have an expansive fondness for. In any other instance, Merlin would surely have taken her up on the offer; she was becoming an incredibly dear friend to him, and anything to make her happy he would jump at the chance to attempt. But quidditch matches… they were just a deterrent. And not only because the loud bellowing of overly enthusiastic cheerleaders made him cringe and grit his teeth as he covered his ears – he'd still not quite gotten used to such an immense crowd of noise.

It was more than that. He'd had a horrible time of it the first match he'd watched, what with Arthur and his near-death experience at the hands of an aggressively jealous Gordon Valiant. He could barely look at the quidditch pitch without memories of that match rising to the forefront of his mind, drawing a shudder from him and a sick roiling in his gut. That anyone could get so intently fixated upon a sport to attempt to injure someone was… it was mind boggling. Not to mention a little horrifying.

"Sorry, Gwen, I just… really, I don't want to. It's never really done it for me, being around people screaming and cheering on their favourite teams. I always avoided the backyard matches back home because of it." _Well, it wasn't the main reason for avoiding them but it was certainly a contributing factor._

Sighing, Gwen had finally nodded and accepted defeat. "Alright, then. I'll bring you stories of loss and triumph upon my return."

"You do that. And tales of fainting first years, if you would."

Gwen had only laughed with that mixture of faint concern and amusement that was so typically Gwen that it had drawn a mirroring smile from Merlin. "I will. Make sure you get some homework done if you're skiving off from your House commitments."

"Yes, ma'am," Merlin had replied with a salute, and he'd left his friend to hasten off to her house through the roaring of voices resounding through the doors of the Great Hall. Turning, Merlin left for the Slytherin common room.

He would make good his promise of sorts to Gwen. Maybe he could do some of his homework; as the year progressed, he was certainly becoming swamped beneath it. What had at first seemed manageable if a little tiresome in its consistency had now become faintly exhausting. Merlin had sketches to draw for CMC and Herbology, a star chart to complete for Astronomy and a Divination journal to ponder over as he contemplated the strange mish-mash of dreams that he _could_ recall and was certain held not a lick of prophecy in them. He had an essay for Debois' class and Transfiguration both due the following week, a chapter of dry History to slog through and revision of the Cheering Charm for Charms that he had never even really learnt in the first place under his mother's instruction. He never really needed it in the past, so it was irrelevant.

And that was to say nothing of his self-imposed homework that he'd acquired from Kilgharrah's lessons. Swamped didn't even begin to cover it, and Merlin had never been particularly good at homework in the first place.

The common room was almost as loud as the Great Hall had been, what with the resonance of voices rebounding throughout rooms far less expansive. Merlin tucked his chin and skirted around the walls on his way to the dormitory, avoiding any possibility for a confrontation which, he would have to admit, would be with Cornelius if it was to be anyone. Freya was hardly one to waylay him in a room of crowded people, even if she hadn't been at breakfast already. She knew only too well the inclination towards avoiding a mosh pit. He slipped gratefully into the relative quiet of the empty third year boys dorm room and sighed in relief for a moment.

Unfortunately, the dorm wasn't as empty as he had first thought. Quiet, yes, but not empty. Opening his eyes to the quartet of four-poster beds draped in silver, green and black, he spotted Edwin curled half sitting upon his bed. The boy didn't even glance up from the book he was studying in his lap at Merlin's entrance, as though he were too engrossed in his reading despite the fact that Merlin could make out even from the doorway the faint glassiness to his eyes.

Edwin was a problem. Not _being_ a problem, but problematic nonetheless. As far as Merlin could tell, as far as he had seen – for he had been watching – Edwin hadn't resisted Merlin's request. Or more correctly his ultimatum. He hadn't pursued any further acts of vengeance against Gorlois or his daughter. In fact, he hadn't done all that much of anything except read books and keep to himself. Or 'read' books, as Merlin had come to observe, for at times he could go hours without turning a page.

There was a weight of guilt settling upon Merlin's shoulders. An irrational guilt, perhaps – he knew he couldn't possibly have let Edwin maintain his curse upon Morgana Gorlois, not with the potentially fatal effects that Gaius had speculated upon – but he felt it all the same. Merlin had never lost anyone, or at least no one that he could really remember, and he couldn't fathom the pain that Edwin was feeling for the loss of his parents. Of his family, his _entire_ family except for his aunt and uncle. And even from the perspective of one who couldn't truly understand, Merlin could sympathise. He could understand how such a loss would drive one towards vengeance they perceived as justice.

It was just that such knowledge and understanding didn't make him consider Edwin's actions to be right.

In the weeks since Edwin's nearly disastrous cursing of Morgana, he had withdrawn into a shell of himself. Merlin perceived it as the subdued, silent and listless self that Edwin sometimes assumed, though in this instance it was unchangeable and apparently unshakeable. Edwin rarely talked except to professors – and never to Gorlois, even when he asked a question – and seemed nothing if not lost in thought entirely. Always.

Merlin felt a painful punch of guilt for that, too. He was the one who had pushed Edwin into his withdrawal. Necessary or not, it had been him. Merlin had reached that conclusion moments before he'd resolved to be the one to drawn Edwin out of it. If he could, that was.

Forcing an expression of friendliness his face as though they hadn't had an argument so deep and cutting and painful that Merlin doubted either of them would ever fully recover from it, he crossed the room towards his bed. Riffling through his trunk for textbooks, quills and parchment – he may as well make good his promise to Gwen to do his homework – he spoke casually to Edwin over his shoulder. "I'm going to look for somewhere to study. Not the library – it always seems way too big when no one else in there, don't you think? Somewhere else. Did you want to come?"

Edwin didn't respond. He simply stared down at his book with that same glassiness of expression that he'd been wearing almost permanently of late. The listlessness that caused Merlin to bite his lip and cringe at the quiver of guilt that rose within him once more. "Edwin?"

Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Edwin raised his gaze. He blinked owlishly at Merlin for a moment, eyes flat and devoid of emotion. "What?" He murmured so quietly that had anyone else been in the room it would have likely been too low to hear.

Merlin chewed his lip for a moment. "Study. Did you want to come? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I just figured… I mean, I know you were a bit behind in Charms. I mean –" He cut himself off before he could say anything more triggering or utterly _stupid_. Why did he bring up Charms? Of all the subjects…

Edwin only blinked at him silently in mute listlessness once more. Then, in that same dreamy state, he shook his head slowly. Without further reply he turned back to his book, leaving Merlin to stare at him awkwardly. It was horrible. Merlin almost would have preferred Edwin to be angry with him, to shout and cry, to do anything but shutter himself completely, but he didn't do any of that. Not since that day just before New Years. It was as though he were forcibly trying to forget it.

Merlin couldn't blame him. He didn't much like to think of that day either, and not only because of the curse Edwin had cast. He still found that he couldn't look at the Black Lake without shuddering in unease. The list of places around Hogwarts that held memories of such unfavourable experiences was certainly growing.

Hitching his book bag, heavily weighted with textbooks and spare parchment, onto his shoulder, Merlin left the room. He did glance over his shoulder one more time towards Edwin, however; habit of doing such had proven that not once did Edwin follow his departure with his eyes. He just didn't seem to care about anything much anymore.

Merlin quickly took himself through the still-excited common room and hastened through the corridors. He had no idea really as to where he should go; he'd spoken the truth to Edwin when he said he didn't want to go to the library, for as much as he disliked raucous crowds and deafening chatter in anything but brief doses, he was just as discomforted by cavernous rooms of shadows and dust, seemingly empty of anyone but himself.

Besides, contrary to what he had told Gwen, Merlin did want to watch the quidditch match. Not from the grandstand amidst a roiling pool of bodies, but to watch all the same. Despite the fact that the entire staff body – or there about – would be watching, he couldn't shake the memory of the first match he'd watched. They were good with magic, the professors, there was no doubting that, but whether it was because of his small town misgivings or his general wariness and growing expectations of the unexpected, Merlin had found that they lacked what he would consider to be adequate consideration and preparation for potentially disastrous situations. It made him nervous, though he would never tell anyone – the one time he'd mentioned it to Freya she'd merely blinked up at him in surprise and confusion, baffled at the thought that the professors couldn't protect them. Even in spite of _everything_ that had already happened that year.

Honestly.

But then, even if Freya had been aware of the strix and the pumpkin juice poisoning, she hadn't known about Valiant. She hadn't witnessed the siren incident at the lake which, after the headmaster had drawn him aside to offer his formal yet heartfelt thanks for saving his son, had been very deliberately swept under the rug. Again. So when it came to quidditch, Merlin watched from a distance. Just in case something _did_ happen.

The last match he'd watched from the Astronomy tower. A view of the pitch it had afforded, but it was at a distance. A marked distance, at which he certainly wouldn't be of any use to the game should something that required assistance actually happen. Maybe if he went to the northernmost tower? That was the one closest to the quidditch pitch at least.

He made his way through the castle, following his mental map of the layout that had take long weeks of arduous polishing and rehashing. Hogwarts castle was nothing if not a confusion of floors and staircases, mostly empty classrooms and passageways that were there one day and gone the next. Merlin had worked out the best routes to most places on interest – his classrooms, the Great Hall, the library, his common room and Hufflepuff's which, naturally, included the kitchens a corridor away from it. He hadn't found himself lost for at least a month now.

The climb up the northern tower showed the gradual trickle of students snaking their way down towards the pitch from each arching window. The day was overcast, almost sombre, though at least it had stopped snowing. The last of the icy chill was receding, leaving behind only the disgruntled rains of spring that showered with a fury to make up for the winter they replaced. It was something of a miracle that it wasn't raining today.

Because of his attention to the intermittent windows along the upwardly spiralling staircase, Merlin didn't realise at first that the bare, stone tower of floor to ceiling windows already held an occupant. He was staring out towards the pitch from the top step, watching as the last of the students dribbled down to the pitch and the miniscule, barely discernible figure of the headmaster urged the teams onto their brooms. Only a faint scuffle, a shuffle of movement that sounded like nothing if not a scrambling rat in the walls, drew his attention from his watching.

The presence of another person itself was surprising enough given that Merlin knew for a fact that just about everyone in the school went down to the quidditch pitch to watch the game. Everyone but him, that was, and apparently a little fist year boy from his diminutive stature. The boy was seated cross-legged facing a window a little further around the room. It too afforded a view of the quidditch pitch, but the boy wasn't looking in its direction. His gaze was fastened upon Merlin, blue eyes wide and staring and so pale that for a moment Merlin thought he was blind. But no, there was too much focus in his expression for that, a solemn focus that looked entirely too mature for a boy two years Merlin's junior.

Merlin recognised his face, just as he recognised the faces of every student and professor at the school. That didn't mean he knew the boy's name, however, or anything about him other than that he was a Ravenclaw by the blue trimming on the overlarge robes and tie he wore. Merlin had a moment to wonder at the fact that he wore his uniform on the weekend but disregarded the thought. It was hardly his place to wonder, regardless of his curiosity that seemed to spark at just about anything.

"Sorry," Merlin said, and he paused slightly, awkwardly, at the echoing of his voice around the emptiness of the room. Stonewalls did have a tendency to provoke echoing, and there wasn't even a rug or piece of furniture to muffle it. He pursed his lips for a moment. "I didn't notice you here. Didn't mean to intrude or anything if, you know, this was your place or something. Did you want me to leave?"

The boy gave him a series of puzzled blinks. Slow and for a moment Merlin was sure that his eyes flashed a faint yellow-gold, vibrant and glowing – it was surely magical, though Merlin didn't know what kind of magic, wandless or otherwise, did that. Before he could think upon it further, however, the boy blinked once more, shaking his head slowly and, with an equally slow turn of his head, he trained his gaze back onto the quidditch pitch. Merlin didn't think he imagined the sidelong flicker of his gaze, however, once, twice, then three times. He didn't think he imagined the momentary resurfacing of gold, either.

How strange.

Shifting with persisting awkwardness and just a touch of confusion, Merlin finally concluded that it would probably look more foolish of him to leave after the boy had indicated he didn't think his absence necessary. So instead, he lowered himself down before a different window sidelong to that of the boy's, gaze turning towards the quidditch pitch too as he pulled out his Transfiguration textbook, quill and a blank sheet of parchment. As he watched, the game kicked into gear, the distant figures of blue and green soaring into the air and shooting after the smudges of quaffle and bludger that could barely be made out. The awkwardness ensued a little, with Merlin nothing if not aware of the presence of the silent boy at his side and his occasional glances – he noticed they still flickered between pale blue and golden – but all in all it was companionable enough.

For once, though, Merlin didn't feel the urge to speak and break the silence.

He wasn't sure how long that silence ensued for exactly. He'd written about a foot of his essay, the school bell had gonged twice on whatever hour or quarter it had clocked, and from what he could tell the Ravenclaw team had drawn ahead by at least two goals before their Slytherin opponents. It was likely the humming silence that shrouded the room that made the arrival of Morgana Gorlois not so unexpected at all. Her footsteps rung on the steps, echoing up the tower, from the moment she had begun to climb.

"Mordred?" She called, her voice recognisable to Merlin after only a brief moment of recollection. "Mordred, are you up here? I'll tell you this, I don't fancy I'll be particularly forgiving if I climb all of these stairs and find you elsewhere."

The statement seemed a little redundant to Merlin – what was the point in saying such if this Mordred – the boy? – wasn't there? But he disregarded it and only glanced over his shoulder as she climbed into the room.

"You are here! Why didn't you tell me? I was looking for –" She paused and blinked at Merlin. "Oh. Hello, Merlin. Mordred, I didn't know you had company. You could have told me that, too."

Merlin blinked. Morgana, the cold, aloof, superior and seemingly perfect Morgana, was acting in a way so different to that she usually did that he almost questioned her identity. Polyjuice Potion, maybe? A glamor? For not only was she acting different to how she always did – the diamond hard and coolly detached Slytherin fifth year had those around her approach and try to befriend _her_ , and very rarely appeared to make the effort to do the same to others – had spoken to him. Spoken, and not only that, she'd called him by his name. By his first name.

They'd never spoken. Not even in their brief, nodded exchange in the Hospital Wing weeks before.

Opening and closing his mouth, Merlin settled for a stilted reply. "Hello… Gorlois."

"Please, call me Morgana," she said, striding into the room. Then, with more practical casualness than Merlin had expected of her, she drew her wand, conjured a cushion between Merlin and the boy who must have Mordred, and lowered herself gracefully to the floor. She took a moment to arrange her robes, readjusting her hair, before turning something that almost resembled a smile upon Merlin. He was left blinking in renewed surprise as she then switched her attention to Mordred.

"I was looking for you in all of the towers, you know. I climbed all the way up to the Astronomy tower, and the southern tower. You could have at least told –"

Morgana cut herself off as if interrupted and glanced at Mordred. He'd shifted his own attention from the window, face upturned towards the fifth year girl beside him. His face had barely changed but for his eyes flashing golden once more. What was with that? Was it a strange tick of the boy's? More than that, for some reason Merlin was left with the distinct impression that he was expressing faint reproval.

Morgana sighed a moment later. "Well, how was I to know? You usually spend your time in the Astronomy tower, and I've found you asleep twice in the southern tower before. You've never expressed a great deal of interest in quidditch before so how was I to know you wished to watch it?"

There was another moment of silence, Mordred peering wordlessly up at Morgana and she down at him. Merlin switched his attention between the two, confusion rapidly growing as Morgana spoke once more. Her words were definitely spoken in a reply. "I didn't feel like it. Besides, Helios has angered me – again – and I am hence refraining from watching him play as punishment. In the end, it is fairly obvious that Ravenclaw will win anyway. There's hardly a need to go down and confirm what I already know."

Then there was more silence. A silent exchange, Merlin gathered from the meeting of their gazes. Quill dropping to his parchment, blinking in continued confusion and surprise, Merlin couldn't help but let his curiosity speak for itself. "Are you two speaking to one another?"

As one, Morgana and Mordred turned towards him in perfect synchrony. Mordred cocked his head, eyes fading from gold to blue, while Morgana gave that almost smile once more. "Well, you can hardly keep it a secret now. He guessed it." She paused, and the sidelong attentiveness to the younger boy's faintly reproving gaze once more suggested she listened to whatever communication he was affording her. "I did not. You were the one who spoke to me in such a way. I am hardly the one who provided the greatest suggestion."

"Are you telepathic?" Merlin asked, shifting his attention towards Mordred. The boy's expression as it turned upon him was still sombre, but where it had been reproving before it now appeared the exact opposite. He bowed his head slightly.

"Wow…" Merlin breathed. "That's a really, really unique Gift. I've never met anyone who could use telepathy without a spell. You're not using a spell, are you?"

Morgana smirked, drawing Mordred's attention back towards her. "You see? He doesn't dismiss your talents or disapprove of you using them. Even when it is rude to isolate potential conversationalists from a discussion that he is not involved in."

Mordred drew his gaze away from Morgana in a way that suggested he did so just short of rolling his eyes. Merlin couldn't help but stare at the exchange. Morgana Gorlois, _the_ Morgana who had followers more than friends and admirers more than confidents, was speaking with nothing short of maternal scolding to a boy four years younger than her. And more surprisingly, it sounded entirely natural.

"You were right," she continued, and it took Merlin a moment to realise she was answering his question. "Mordred was born with his Gift – an innate Gift, you understand, yes? – and as such can use it wandlessly. At times too instinctively." Morgana turned a slight frown upon Mordred that he pointedly ignored, stare affixed upon the distant quidditch pitch.

Merlin nodded his understanding. He knew about innate gifts, perhaps on a level a little too personal. Magical Gifts could be innate, the Gifted born with it, or they could be acquired through hard work, commitment, curse or inducement. His own Dark Gift was innate, much as he disliked considering it such, as were skills like Seeing and Dream Walking, speaking tongues like Parselmouth or, in cases such as magical creature traits like Veela characteristics and werewolves, the propensity to shapeshift. They were generally weaker if not innate and not all Gifts could be learned or acquired – Veela's could only be born, and attempts at speaking Parseltongue by those self-taught was usually a garbled mess – but others could be. Prophecy, to a degree, or the curse of the werewolf acquired through bite.

Telepathy was an exceptionally unusual gift. Merlin had only read about those with such a skill before, and couldn't recall there ever being one innately born with it for centuries. He offered a smile to Mordred that he hoped conveyed his respect and curiosity without seeming too excessive before turning back to Morgana. She, for whatever reason, seemed to be acting as their go between. Merlin wasn't sure why but tried not to be deterred by the fact. Maybe Mordred didn't like speaking to strangers telepathically? Or maybe Merlin had said something wrong?

"Does he always speak in telepathy?"

Morgana pursed her lips. "Most of the time, unfortunately. Much to my urging of him to do otherwise. Has he refrained from speaking to you? I had assumed perhaps that –" She paused in that way that Merlin was coming to recognise meant she was listening to Mordred's words, catching the sight of a flair of gold in Mordred's eyes. Perhaps his telepathic speaking was linked to the golden-eyed thing? "Ah. I see." Morgana nodded as she turned an actual smile upon Merlin this time.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. He wasn't sure if that smile boded well or if he should be fearful of it. "What is it?"

"You're quite magically powerful, aren't you, Merlin?"

Merlin blinked, rendered surprised once more. "Excuse me?"

Morgana raised a hand, closing her eyes momentarily as though to reprimand herself. "I'm sorry. That was terribly rude of me to ask."

"No, it's not that, it's just…" Merlin frowned shaking his head. Yes, in most Wizarding circles, especially between purebloods, it was considered quite rude to ask another person of their magical strength. Such knowledge was closely guarded and could only be discerned by an external force through means of witnessing great displays of power of by casting a somewhat intrusive charm upon the subject of curiosity. Even purebloods, who could reputedly detect the colour or _feel_ of one's magic when it was cast, could identify it at times even without spellcasting specifically, couldn't discern magical strength simply by looking. At least Merlin didn't think they could. That Morgana had asked… But then, Merlin had never had much to do with such awkward dancing around other magic-users. "It's not that, I was just surprised that you asked. And wondering why, I guess."

Morgana offered him another smile, and it seemed to come more easily this time. Merlin appreciated its arousal; she was not only remarkably pretty but appeared far more approachable for wearing it. He had to wonder why she didn't more often. "I ask only because Mordred claimed he had difficulty with transferring his telepathic intentions directly to you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that your magic is strong enough to naturally erect a defensive shield around your mind. You've heard of Occlumency, I assume?" At Merlin's nod, she continued. "Strong magic acts as a sort of natural shield. Not quite the same, and often it has cracks and crevices that anyone rude enough could poke through, but it will deter many attempts."

Merlin shook his head wonderingly. "I never knew that."

"Well, there you go, you learn something new every day."

Merlin leaned around Morgana to peer more easily at Mordred. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to block you out or anything. I don't even know how I'd go about taking those shields or whatever down."

Mordred shrugged. Then surprisingly, because Morgana had half convinced him it wouldn't happen, he spoke. "That's okay. I've had it happen before and it's a bit annoying but I _can_ speak." His voice was breathy, faint as though from disuse, but there was nothing feeble about the glance he gave Morgana. Merlin didn't think he needed to be able to hear Mordred's telepathy to know what he said: _See? I can speak if I want to._

Morgana was shaking her head, though her smile remained. "There you go. Maybe you could be a good influence on Mordred, Merlin. Everyone needs friends, or at least acquaintances. Mordred's in Ravenclaw, but I've always thought that Ravenclaws were the most compatible with Slytherins."

The comment drew Merlin's attention back to their situation, the strangeness of it all, and he blurted out the passing thought before he could help himself. "Why are you talking to me?"

Morgana turned back towards him with an expression of amusement on her face that Mordred shared in a shadowed impression despite the supposed attentiveness he was giving to the quidditch match. "What do you mean?"

Cringing slightly, Merlin shrugged. "Sorry, that was rude."

"Then now we're even," Morgana offered practically.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Tell me?"

Merlin chewed his lip for a moment and fiddled with his abandoned quill. The unblinking attention Morgana gave him forbade skirting around the issue. "I was just wondering. I've never spoken to you before is all and I just always thought you never really had much interest in me." _Or anyone_.

The glance Mordred gave Merlin, of silent agreement, made Merlin think for a second that he'd heard his thoughts. His attention was drawn away a second later, however, as Morgana responded. "Is it a problem that I've, how did you say, 'taken an interest' in you?"

Merlin shrugged again awkwardly, then started slightly as his fiddling suddenly snapped his quill. Morgana spared it an amused glance that only made the accident more embarrassing. "It's not a problem," he muttered. "I'm just surprised. And a little confused."

"Well, that's certainly easy enough to remedy," Morgana said, shifting slightly on her pillow into a more comfortable position. Merlin envied her slightly that she'd had the forethought to conjure it. The stone floor was uncomfortably hard after sitting upon it relatively immobile for countless minutes. "I had this same conversation with Arthur not a few weeks ago."

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, surprised once more. He was beginning to almost expect the unexpected to spill from Morgana's mouth.

"Arthur Pendragon," Morgana confirmed, as though that were the answer to Merlin's questioning echo. "He asked me the same and I told him that, firstly, my interest was aroused by the fact that your mother – who I didn't realise immediately was actually _Hunith Emrys_ – helped Livingstone to alleviate the curse that was put upon me. You know about that, I am sure?"

Merlin nodded, momentarily distracted from Morgana's previous words. While he had faith in both his mother's and Gaius' skills as Healers, he knew that the curse had been removed by Edwin's inclination rather than any particularly exceptional abilities on either of their parts. "I'm pretty sure everyone heard about that."

"Yes. Unfortunately." Morgana didn't sound like she thought such spreading of the truth to be unfortunate in the slightest. "But more than that, right after you dragged my foolish friend through the door after having saved him from a near death experience himself, how could I not find you interesting?"

Merlin shifted uneasily at the reminder of the siren incident. He didn't much like such reminders and sincerely hoped that the headmaster had plans to do something about the nest in the Black Lake. Perhaps a translocation? It would be somewhat cruel to the sirens themselves, but surely the safety of the students should be paramount. "You make it sound like something exceptional," he muttered, ignoring the following raised eyebrow that Morgana afforded him that suggested she did indeed consider it such. Then, by way of diverting the conversation, "You're friends with Arthur?"

"Unfortunately," Morgana replied, and this time she did indeed seem slightly regretful. "He's been something of a thorn in my side since the day he was born. Our fathers were the closest of friends in their schooling days, my own one of the few that Uther considered worthy of his attention." She frowned slightly at that before visibly banishing the thought. "And, frustrating as I find him at times, I do have some fondness for him. Arthur's like a very, very annoying little brother, one who needs sense knocked into him every so often. Like the wisdom of knowing when to admit he is wrong, or when to offer gratitude for assistance afforded."

The suggestive cast to Morgana's stare indicated a deeper level to her words that Merlin didn't immediately grasp. Then he realised it, and a wave of surprised amusement and just a hint of annoyance welled within him. _Oh. So that's why._

Since the siren incident, Arthur had been, if not friendly, certainly not unfriendly. He didn't speak to Merlin more than necessary, but neither did he turn a glare upon him at every chance he got. He still stared sometimes, but it was more in confusion than anything. Merlin didn't quite understand what it was about himself that was supposedly so confounding but he appreciated the dampening of his apparent poor humour nonetheless.

And besides, Arthur had thanked him. Sort of. In a roundabout way, if not directly. No, he never expressly said "thank you" but the sentiment was felt nonetheless from the way that he'd saved Merlin from what would surely have been a detention at the hands of Debois. Merlin had been foolish to attempt wandless, wordless magic around anyone else and he had payed the price with an exploded desk and an angry professor. Even if it was sort of exciting that he'd managed it without an incantation. Not quite the spell he'd been hoping for but he'd cast all the same.

Suffice it to say he had learned his lesson and would refrain from repeating such acts of foolishness in the future. But if nothing else, it had shown Merlin that Arthur had, for whatever reason – though probably because he felt obliged after what had happened in the Black Lake – to quell his dislike of Merlin. And to thank him. Sort of.

"Did he?" Morgana asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Merlin glanced towards her, at her expectant and faintly approving expression. Had they not just discussed the impossibility, or at least the improbability, of its occurrence, he would almost have suspected that she possessed some mild telepathic abilities herself and had listened to his thoughts. "You mean has he thanked me?"

Morgana nodded. "I would have hoped he'd been able to pull his head from his arse for long enough to do so, but they weren't high hopes."

Merlin blinked at her, startled for a moment, before he burst into laughter. At Morgana's questioning frown, he shook his head. "Sorry, I just never expected you to say something like that."

Morgana's frown morphed slowly into a smile once more, but before she could answer Mordred spoke in his quiet, breathy voice. "Ravenclaw's won. Lamorak caught the snitch."

"As expected," Morgana said, turning to peer out of the window Mordred still gazed through. "Lamorak is far more competent than West. I'm surprised it took them so long." She leaned slightly into Mordred with a familiarity that bespoke comfort and ease, and raised a hand to rest it atop his dark curls.

With a start, Merlin turned his own attention back to the window before him. He'd hardly spared a moment of attention for the match since Morgana had climbed into the tower, to say nothing of his Transfiguration essay. He felt a touch of guilt that he had been so distracted, that his usefulness if a situation had arisen had been rendered moot, but discarded it. Nothing had happened, after all.

And besides, he thought, glancing sidelong back at Morgana and Mordred as the older girl murmured something to the boy that caused him to roll his eyes slightly, he'd discovered something far more interesting. Or more correctly someone. Some ones.

* * *

 

Merlin glanced back over his shoulder as the sound of a closing door indicated that Ravenclaw's portal into the common room had shuttered once more. He'd never had a cause to visit Ravenclaw tower before and hadn't even known where the common room was located. He added the plain door with its animated raven knocker to his mental list of places to remember.

"Come on," Morgana said at his side. "We should probably leave before some pompous Ravenclaw arrives to chase us from their tower." And with a long-legged stride, she led the way down the spiral staircase that drew down from the fifth floor. Merlin followed right behind; shorter than Morgana as he was he had to jog a few steps – and nearly trip over the hem of his robes – to keep up.

They had accompanied Mordred back to Ravenclaw tower as much for Morgana's sake as for Mordred, Merlin suspected. That maternal side that he had witnessed from her seemed to have demanded she ensure he make his way back safely, even though Merlin had to wonder as to what she thought could happen to him in that short trip. Did he have a poor sense of direction? Perhaps he was being bullied?

"Thank you for coming with us, Merlin," Morgana said after a brief period of silence. She slowed slightly until he fell into pace beside her as they stepped off the last of the Ravenclaw tower's spiralling staircase.

Merlin shrugged. "No problem. I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to."

Morgana arched an eyebrow. "You couldn't just accept the thanks?"

"Not when it's not needed."

"You're strange."

"I've been called that before a couple of times."

Morgana gave another smile. It faded, however, as she paused in step and turned fully towards him. "I mean it, though. I think Mordred appreciated it as well. He seems quite taken with you."

Pausing in step beside her, Merlin raised a confused eyebrow. He hadn't picked that up at all. "Really? What makes you think that?"

"Other than the fact that he told me?" Morgana's smile grew once more. "He rarely speaks to anyone he doesn't know, and when he does it is almost always telepathically. You must have done something to interest him enough to get him to speak to you."

"I can't imagine what," Merlin said, frowning in thought instead. He hadn't really done anything noteworthy, had he?

"Perhaps just the fact that you spoke to him at all," Morgana continued thoughtfully, picking up her step once more and leading Merlin down another flight of stairs. "Many people disregard him because he doesn't talk. I think they believe him to be simple."

"You don't," Merlin pointed out.

Morgana was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Thank you."

"What? What for?"

"For not asking if he was."

"Well, he doesn't seem to be," Merlin rationalised. "And even if he was, I don't think that's a reason not to talk to him."

Morgana regarded him for another silent moment before replying. "I was right. You certainly are strange." Then she turned and started her long-legged pace once more.

Merlin fell into step beside her at a trot once more. They swept through the Entrance Hall just as the noise of returning students in the courtyard, laughter and the music of chatter, trickled through the doors. Morgana didn't pause, didn't even spare the direction a glance, but headed straight down the corridor that led towards the Slytherin dungeons.

"You don't either, though," Merlin finally said, breaking their silence as he had known he would be unable to avoid doing. "I wondered at that."

"Why?" Morgana asked, raising an eyebrow but not turning to face him. "Is it so hard to believe?"

"A little bit. It just doesn't seem to fit in with your character, is all."

"My character," she murmured, nodding. An expression of satisfaction curled her lips, as though Merlin's words were actually gratifying. "Yes, you could say that."

"Then why?" Merlin repeated.

Morgana was silent for another corridor before answering. "I think perhaps I feel sorry for him? Maybe that's it." She frowned for a moment, as though she disagreed or was perhaps angered by her own words. "I stumbled upon him at the beginning of the school year and confess I've felt somewhat protective of him since."

"Why is that?" Merlin asked, curious.

Morgana finally glanced towards him. She regarded him unblinkingly for a moment before answering. "Alright, I'll tell you. But only because I feel like you're the sort of person who wouldn't spread rumours around to anyone who would listen."

Before Merlin could assure her that he hardly considered himself a gossip, Morgana continued. "Mordred is an orphan. He's lived at a government facility his entire life, or for as long as he can remember. An orphanage, as the old-fashioned term calls it. No one was ever inclined to foster him, let along adopt him because he was… different."

Merlin was silent for a moment as he assimilated the story to she'd told him. He frowned. "Different? As in… was it a Muggle orphanage?"

Morgana nodded shortly. "I do not know the facts of the situation, not in any great detail. Professor Iseldir, his guardian while at Hogwarts, told me a little when he realised I had grown somewhat fond of him. From what I can gather, Mordred was considered mute and fairly stupid, though the later I tend to consider is more a by-product of the fact that he never had any proper tutelage. They didn't even send him to a school to learn to read and write."

Merlin watched Morgana sidelong as she silently seethed. The subject was obviously a sore spot for her for some reason – perhaps just her protectiveness of Mordred? – and he didn't want to urge her to unleash her anger. "But he's getting help, right? I mean, the Hogwarts professors –"

"Yes," Morgana nodded with a sigh. "Yes, they are helping him. That is why Iseldir has been assigned his guardian. To ease the transition from an isolated lifestyle into an educational institution. He was initially intended to be the support staff for a struggling, academically disabled student, but apparently he discovered in short order that the diagnosis of the orphanage's _carers_ was somewhat skewed." Her lip curled and Merlin felt himself shudder slightly at the abrupt hardness of her expression. Morgana wasn't a short girl, being about head taller than him, but more than that she wore intimidation like a comfortable cloak. Though her anger wasn't directed at him, he still felt unnerved to witness it, as though she were a great deal taller and looming just slightly

"You've been helping him?" He asked, because he couldn't think of anything else to say."

Morgana's scowl fell and she blinked at him in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess," Merlin shrugged.

"Lucky… Yes, well, I have been helping him. I read with him sometimes, and assist him with his homework. Always in private, though. He dislikes being around people."

Merlin nodded his understanding. He could have predicted from nothing but his quietness, his telepathy and his choice of seating to view the quidditch match that Mordred was disinclined to mix with others. "I'm sure he appreciates it."

"Maybe," Morgana murmured as they turned down the final hallway towards the Slytherin common room. "I can never tell with Mordred. Sometimes I wonder if he actually likes me or if he merely endures my presence."

Staring at her sidelong once more, Merlin had to fight to contain the familiar flicker of surprise. The uncertainty in Morgana's tone was entirely unexpected and indeed yet another aspect of her character that he wouldn't have thought possible. Morgana Gorlois hardly seemed the sort of person to be uncertain about anything. Ever.

"I think he does," he said quietly.

Morgana paused in step before the blank wall of the Slytherin's common room portal. "Why do you think that?"

Shrugging, Merlin murmured a muted " _Purity and Sanctity"_ and the wall shuddered, grumbling as it shimmered into a doorway. He led the way into the common room. "Only that he seems really comfortable with you. From what little I've heard, I doubt Mordred would be the kind of person to allow someone he didn't to pat him on the head like you did without objecting."

Morgana was silent, and it was only when Merlin paused in the centre of the common room, sparing only a brief glance at the pair of seventh years studying attentively at the desks across the room, that he realised she was studying him with a peculiar smile on her face. "What?"

Slowly, Morgana shook her head. "You know, I was right. You are interesting, Merlin. I think I might quite come to enjoy your company more often."

Merlin blinked at her, the almost expected surprise resurfacing. "Um… thank you?"

"You're welcome," she said with a slight nod of her head as she stepped past him. "You know," she continued casually without even glancing towards him, "perhaps we three can sit together to watch the next quidditch match? I would certainly appreciate having someone to actually _talk_ "

She didn't wait for a reply as she swept from the common room towards the girl's dormitories. Merlin was left blinking slightly stunned in her wake, feeling almost as surprised as the two other people in the room evidently were from their raised gazes and wide eyes. What an unexpected turn of events, and concerning _Morgana_ of all people. Merlin had always sort of considered Gorlois' daughter something of an unapproachable entity before, but after their short time together she seemed almost human.

Ignoring his senior housemates, Merlin shook his head and started up towards his own dorm. He urged himself to refrain from dwelling too much upon the confusion of the morning's events, of Morgana's or the sorry situation of Mordred. He felt certain he would surely start speculating upon the Ravenclaw boy if he did and that was hardly fair. If Merlin wanted answers, he should search for the _right_ answers rather than formulate his own.

Maybe he could go and try talking to Edwin once more? That at least he could approach head on.

* * *

 

"I did it once," Merlin huffed, frustrated. "I don't know why it should be so hard to do again."

He glared at the bundle of fractured and splintered timber, what had previously been a chair and yet would _not_ repair itself, no matter how much Merlin willed it to happen with an urge of his magic. He _needed_ to speak the words, he knew, even though he'd performed the _Reparo_ not a week before without the incantation. For some reason it simply wasn't working.

Two hours into his lesson with Kilgharrah and he still couldn't get it. Worse than that, the unnatural warmth of the room that he had barely noticed on other visits seemed to be urging him towards sleep. It didn't help that he actually sort of wanted to go to sleep. Not that he wanted to skip the opportunity to practice under Kilgharrah's watchful eye but…

"Perhaps you have reached your limit for the night," Kilgharrah suggested. "You appear weary, Merlin. Are you sleep-deprived? Such deprivation can affect the efficiency of one's magical skills."

Merlin sighed and didn't even bother to look over his shoulder. As though he'd read his mind like a telepath, the old professor seemed to have a way of speaking the thoughts that crossed Merlin's mind. He shook his head, denying the words despite their truth. "No, I'm not."

"I can smell it on you. You seem weary."

Merlin bit back a retort to comment on the strangeness of the man's words. He often did things like that, things that were a little unnatural and provoked a frown of confusion when considered closely. Like how he referred to smells, or how in one instant he could be sitting like a statue or creaking slowly and the next moving with whip-lashing speed. Or how sometimes he appeared to talk to Merlin as though they were old friends rather than carefully distant student and teacher. He didn't bother asking about it anymore. Kilgharrah usually just deflected his questions anyway.

"I'm fine, really."

"Are you perhaps not sleeping?"

"I'm sleeping fine," Merlin grumbled.

"Then perhaps you have need of seeking you bed at an earlier hour?"

There was truth in that speculation too. Merlin had been staying up later than normal of late, last night included, and to do homework of all things. With Morgana, because apparently she appeared to have taken Merlin under her tutelage much as she had Mordred when she had discovered that he was fairly appalling at writing essays with any particular competency.

It reminded him of Gwen's attitude in a way. How Merlin had managed to wind up in a group of study-crazy friends was a mystery to him; Lancelot was nearly as bad as Gwen in his studiousness, though more like Sefa in that he kept his mouth shut and head bowed over his own work. Freya was Merlin's only saving grace, the Slytherin girl blessedly making it her life's goal to do as little homework as possible without failing her grades – and even then sometimes she was pushing it. She said she just couldn't be bothered, and Merlin suspected there was little else to the situation. She simply never seemed particularly interested in her coursework, and coupled with her uncertain health – Merlin had never asked what it was that she suffered for, considering it rude despite his curiosity, but had observed her occasional tiredness and strove to help her on the days that she seemed particularly ailing – and she appeared to have enough else to think about.

Strangely enough, however, with Morgana, Merlin actually found that her mentoring approach, her no-nonsense attitude and persistence – almost demandingly so – seemed to be helping. Not to mention that he felt as though it was something more than mere tutoring than simply Morgana trying to fix a flaw. She seemed to have a sort of fascination for Merlin's wandless magic and on frequent occasions just asked him to 'do something' with the claim that it helped her with her own studies. Merlin didn't know how, but felt that he could hardly dispute her request after the assistance she was offering. His homework was actually going a little better, even after such a short time.

Shrugging at Kilgharrah's words, Merlin turned his attention back at the pile of crumpled timber pieces. He raised his hand and frowned forcibly at what _should be a chair._ "Yeah, probably. But I've just been having an older student tutor me with some of my homework – she's really helpful – and yeah, maybe I've been going to bed a little later."

"You are not out after curfew, are you?" Kilgharrah asked, completely overlooking the fact that Merlin was only attending his lessons by breaking those same rules of curfew. He was strange like that, too, not to mention that at times he appeared almost too invested in Merlin's behaviour. Did it really matter to him when he did homework – shouldn't a professor be promoting good studying habits? – or if he got enough sleep, or that he got along with Arthur Pendragon? He was acting almost like the guardian that Morgana had told him Iseldir was to Mordred. Sometimes Merlin even forgot to call him 'sir'.

He shook his head, frowning as the chair still refused to mend itself. "No, I'm not. She's in Slytherin so we sit in the common room."

"And you believe that these mentoring sessions are truly beneficial?"

Merlin nodded distractedly, frowning harder at the broken pieces of chair. Still no change. "Yeah. Morgana's really smart."

A sudden rush of air, a sudden heat behind him, caused Merlin to spin from his attempts at a _Reparo_ to the professor. Only to trip backwards and fall off the divan and onto the floor. His back slapped hard on the ground, knocking his breath out forcibly, but he hardly noticed. His heart thundered in his chest in shock as the sheer, looming presence of Kilgharrah, all height and lean muscles, flaring nostrils and burning orange eyes, staring down at him. He leaned over him, so abruptly close Merlin could smell him. He'd flung himself so close as to be nearly leaning on top of him.

"W-what are you -?!"

"Morgana?" Kilgharrah cut him off. "Morgana is your _mentor_."

The way he hissed put Merlin in mind of a snake. Eyes wide, as much from steadily growing indignation as from a sudden bout of terror, Merlin slowly nodded. "Y-yes. Morgana. Morgana Gorlois, she's the Charms professor's –"

"I am aware of who she is," Kilgharrah interrupted him. His voice was still a hiss, his nostrils still flared, and he appeared on the verge of pacing from the twitching of his shoulders. It was the most agitated Merlin had ever seen him and – no, it was the only time he'd seen him agitated, with the exception of the time that they'd spoken of Uther. Even then, this was different. Kilgharrah was almost always slow moving, considering, thoughtful and cryptic with his words. This twitching, aggravated man was someone else entirely.

Merlin slowly propped himself up on his elbows. He peered at the man cautiously, guardedly. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

Kilgharrah glanced to the side, grumbling something to himself that was too low to fully make out. It sounded more like a different language entirely. Then, drawing away from his lean slightly, he snapped his gaze back to Merlin, who flinched at the sudden hardness of his orange-eyed stare. They glowed almost red. "I do not think that _Morgana's_ tutelage will be beneficial to you."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that she is a hidden quantity. An unknown. And potentially disastrous."

Finding himself frowning, Merlin slowly climbed to his feet. His indignation was rapidly growing to overwhelm the startled response, the brief bout of surprised terror that had struck him at Kilgharrah's unexpected motion. He was, what, criticising Morgana? Why? Merlin had found that over the course of the last week or two that she was anything but what he had expected. The complete opposite, actually. And though she spoke her mind, often to the point of tactlessness, she wasn't cruel. She certainly didn't warrant the suspicion that radiated from Kilgharrah in tangible waves.

"What do you mean 'potentially disastrous'?" He asked warily.

Kilgharrah seemed to quiver, to ripple in agitation without actually moving. It was a manner that appeared not entirely human, and was thoroughly disconcerting. He grumbled again before speaking, a sound low in his chest. "Morgana possesses a characteristic of her person that would be likely to induce catastrophe should it be provoked. I have seen it before."

"What, you mean in someone else?" Merlin frowned. "Because that's not really fair, to judge someone by another person's actions just because you think they're similar. How do you know that Morgana isn't different?"

"That is not what I meant," Kilgharrah rumbled.

"Because Morgana's actually quite nice. Unexpectedly nice, I'll give you that much." Continuing through Kilgharrah's words, Merlin felt oddly as though he had become the professor of sorts, that he was attempting to teach the older man. It said something of how quickly he'd become almost comfortable with him that he could do so. He hadn't thought himself such, but comparatively he knew he would never consider speaking to another professor in the same way. But this – it just seemed so unfair, to so accuse Morgana of being 'disastrous'. She really could be nice. "You know she even helps this little Ravenclaw boy, Mordred, because he's got it rough and needs help with his homework?"

Kilgharrah gave a bodily twitch at his words, though at what part of them Merlin was unsure. "She is assisting Mordred?"

"Yeah, he's a little first year kid with –" Merlin cut himself off abruptly, considering. Should he keep Mordred's telepathy a secret? It wasn't like Mordred did himself. And besides, who would Kilgharrah tell of the boy's Gift anyway? He was secreted entirely alone down in the lower eastern section of the castle anyway. "With telepathy. He's very quiet, and a little socially awkward, I'll admit, and Morgana's helping him." He frowned once more. "So it's not really fair to suddenly accuse her, you know."

Kilgharrah didn't seem to be listening. He had closed his eyes, turned his head away slightly as though attempting to school himself to calm. When he exhaled a deep breath, it seemed to sweep through the room like a breeze of sudden warmth. Eyes still closed, he spoke. "Perhaps you do not have the awareness for suspicions," he muttered.

"Suspicions? What suspicions?"

"Not in the right way…" Kilgharrah continued, and it sounded more like he was talking solely to himself. "But then, you never did suspect until it had happened." He opened his eyes and stared though swirling orange depths at Merlin. "Perhaps instead you are aware that they are both innately Gifted, Merlin?"

Thoroughly confused, both by the suddenness of the question and the words that Kilgharrah had muttered to himself just before, Merlin blinked for a moment. "I suspected Mordred was, what with his telepathy. But Morgana –"

"She is a born Seer," Kilgharrah said. His tone made it sound like a warning. "A _born_ Seer, Gifted with the skill of prophecy through Dreams. I do not believe she can control it as of yet, but perhaps, this time, she will."

Overlooking the part that he thoroughly did _not_ understand as he was so want to do with Kilgharrah, Merlin nodded slowly. "I think I sort of suspected as much. I knew she was taking Dreamless Sleep potion, and one of the main reasons people do that is to make it easier to read the dream prophecies and to allow some sleep without being overwhelmed by them." Then he frowned once more. "Why did you telling me that? Why does it matter?"

How did Kilgharrah even know? Merlin had come to the realisation that the old professor simply seemed to know things. About Merlin, about the school, about the future, though the latter seemed to be mostly speculation. Even if his knowledge did seem as though he were speaking of something that had already happened, that was in the _past_ as opposed to the present or future. Merlin had begun to suspect that maybe _he_ was a Seer of sorts. A strange kind of Seer, but that he Saw no less. It was the only conclusion that Merlin could rationalise himself with, the only one that really made sense, and given Kilgharrah's close-lipped response to his every question pertaining to such, he had been required to settle for those hypotheses.

What he couldn't settle himself with was the accusation of his words. It was true, he hadn't known Morgana very long, knew Mordred even less well from their few and brief times together, but Merlin knew himself well enough to know he was protective of those he considered his friends. To those who were important to him. Even if Morgana and Mordred were only just starting to become as such, he knew he felt it for them too.

Merlin felt his frown become accusing, and couldn't help but take a step away from Kilgharrah as the professor spoke once more. "It matters. It matters because those who are Gifted always possess additional unique magical talents and are frequently incredibly strong. Magically strong." He nodded his head to Merlin. "You yourself are a prime example of that, Merlin."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. Talking about magical strength… he didn't mind as much as most people did – he knew that many would be horrified to even mention another's strength – but that didn't mean he felt comfortable doing so. Besides, Kilgharrah's words were unnerving in and of themselves. "So you're saying that I shouldn't spend time with them because they're Gifted? And probably strong in magic?"

"I am saying that you should be wary, that you should not so readily _trust_ those who could very easily wreak chaos and disaster with their magical adeptness."

"Gifted people?" Merlin asked, clarifying. "I shouldn't trust Gifted people, because of their magical strength?"

Kilgharrah opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short. His eyes narrowed, and Merlin wondered if he finally realised the weight of his words, of how Merlin had heard them. "Merlin –"

"Because I'm Gifted too," he said hollowly, eyes dropping to the floor at his feet rather than meeting Kilgharrah's disconcerting gaze. As much because he felt a cold upwelling of anger rise within him as because of their unnerving stare. "I'm Gifted, and my Gift is definitely worse than either of theirs."

"Merlin, your Gift is not –"

"I have a Dark Gift," Merlin continued, his voice sharpening unconsciously. "My Gift is Dark. Theirs are just… they're just Gifts. Light Gifts or just Gifts. If any of us should be distrusted it would be me."

"Do not believe that, Merlin." Kilgharrah's voice had lost the fervent, growling concern that had filled it, the hardness that had demanded Merlin attend to and understand his words. It was almost soothing. "Or at least, believe it but understand the truth of your own words. I'm sure I have mentioned this before, even if we have not discussed it in depth. Dark magic is simply that which is unknown, not Black magic –"

"Yeah, and stuff you don't know could very easily be Black magic," Merlin said. He could hear the faint accusation in his tone one more. "And mine – my Gift is definitely the worst out of all of ours. It can be _bad_."

"A Gift itself is neither good nor evil, Merlin," Kilgharrah said, and his tone had taken on a faintly lecturing quality. "Such allegiances lie with the caster, not the Gift. You are one who is surely _good_ , whereas one like Morgana," he paused, shaking his head. "She is one prone to falling prey to the Blacker colouration of magics."

Merlin stared. He stared at Kilgharrah, the man who had all but told him outright that Morgana had the capacity to become 'evil'. Was evil even a thing? Wasn't it all just a matter of perspective?

Merlin didn't know. All he knew was that suddenly, very suddenly, he was angry with Kilgharrah. How dare he accuse Morgana of being evil! Evil? What a ridiculous word, a foolish notion. It wasn't fair. And just as suddenly, for the first time, Merlin wished he was anywhere but in the dark, warm little room with the ex-Dark Arts professor.

"Morgana is my friend," Merlin said, openly claiming for the first time since he'd started talking to her. "She's my friend, and I'd please ask you not to make baseless accusations about her." And without another word, he turned on his heel and made for the door.

"Merlin," Kilgharrah called after him. His tone was resigned. "You may dislike my words but heed them as a warning for the future. They hold relevance."

Merlin paused at the door and cast a half-glance over his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he exactly glared, but didn't care if he did. "Even prophecies are only possibilities, sir. I don't think you should judge someone only based on what _could_ be."

And without another word, he strode through he door and into the darkness of the corridor beyond. He made sure to slam the door behind him with enough force to echo his anger through the walls.


	12. A Moment of Truth

                                                                       

Gwen turned towards Merlin with shining eyes, for once completely ignoring Gorlois as he scribbled the beginnings of the theory of Freezing Charms on the blackboard. "You think she'd actually let me? You're not just saying that to be nice, are you?"

Merlin gave her a sidelong glance before turning back to copying the notes down from the board. Not that he really needed to. For some reason Freezing Charms had always come easily to him. He thought it perhaps because of their similarity to his magic itself – his magic had always been cold. "You give me too much credit, Gwen," he whispered back, keeping his tone barely audible. "I'm not the kind of person who keeps my trap shut because I might offend someone."

Grinning with more joviality than was entirely warranted for his statement, Gwen nodded. "I have noticed that sometimes you lack a filter. It's adorable, your blabbering and yapping about."

"You make me sound like a puppy."

"There's a reason for that. But you're distracting me. You really think Morgana wouldn't mind if I studied with you once in a while?"

Merlin shook his head, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in fond exasperation. He hadn't known that Gwen held something akin to hero-worship for Morgana, but such a reality was rapidly becoming evident. Far from being deterred by her coldness, her hardness and what could be construed as cruelty – all features that Merlin had come to realise were little more than pretences that Morgana wore, slipping on and off as easily as an robe – Gwen seemed to admire her for it. She came more from the perspective that such detachment from her peers was a by-product of Morgana's extraordinary intelligence, and that of course it would be difficult to mingle with everyone else when she so far surpassed those around her.

Merlin had stared at her blankly after her explanation before snorting and chuckling. It was true that Morgana was intelligent. Very intelligent, if the fact that she was taking higher level subjects than her five years of schooling warranted was any indication. But he could have told Gwen she was smart even without that knowledge, simply from the help she'd been affording him with his own homework. But the other part? The 'difficulty mingling'? It was laughable, really. Morgana revelled in such 'difficulty', seeming to thrive on it. Merlin doubted she would like it any other way than to be viewed by the majority of her peers with respect, awe and just a hint of fear.

Over the past few weeks, Merlin had been spending every other evening with Morgana in the common room after curfew. When the starers had looked their fill and the confusion and faint shock at the fact that _Morgana Gorlois_ was talking, interacting, and even seemed to be nearly enjoying spending time with someone else – and a third year at that… when it had all faded slightly, it had become even more enjoyable to do so.

Merlin didn't liked the staring, but he put up with them, mostly because Morgana demanded he join her of an evening and demanded even more vehemently when she discovered his poor writing skills. Their parallel studying sessions had quickly become lessons, at first unidirectional and then as an exchange of knowledge when Morgana's asked to see his wandless magic. Not that she ever performed any herself, never giving it a try no matter how many evenings she observed. She seemed content to simply watch, eyes hungrily drinking in the little gestures of Merlin's hands as he tweaked them in a mimic of wand-waving. That fixation had at first disconcerted Merlin, but he'd grown used to it. Besides, he'd put up with the mild discomfort to spend time with the older girl.

She was nice, in a hard love kind of way.

Those lessons with Morgana, often stretching late into the evening when most other students had gone to bed – and becoming less and less rigid and more simply filled with casual conversation – had largely replaced those Merlin had with Kilgharrah. He was still angry with the ex-Dark Arts professor, still peeved by the apparent prejudice of his words. He hadn't expected such from the man who had seemed so genuinely cordial, so deep thinking and accepting of faults large and small – at least that was how it had seemed from his readiness to overlook the stark reality of Merlin's Dark Gift.

Apparently, Merlin had been wrong in his assumption. Kilgharrah did have prejudices; they were just different to those most people possessed, and hinged upon the knowledge he had acquired from the tentative possibilities his Seeing had provided him with. Or at least, that was how Merlin perceived it. He hadn't been told in so many words that Kilgharrah was indeed a Seer, but nothing else really made sense.

Hunith had always taught Merlin to be accepting of other people's opinions. That they were a product of perspective, of upbringing and circumstance, and that one should never judge too harshly. And yet Kilgharrah had insulted Morgana, the girl who had been nothing but – well, not quite nice, but certainly not mean. And Mordred too, the boy who seemed so quiet and distant, who Merlin sincerely thought would be more likely to scoop an irritating mosquito into his hands to take outside rather than swatting the little annoyance to death. Where did Kilgharrah even get such an idea? What did he know? From prophecies? No, Merlin didn't put much stock in precognition. It seemed far too hazy, too changeable.

Gwen had discovered that Merlin was spending time with Morgana through the gossip grapevine. Naturally, because nothing so astounding as Morgana Gorlois talking to a junior could slip beneath the gossipmongers' radar. Gwen wasn't all that much of a gossip herself, but even she couldn't have missed the raised eyebrows or whispers that ensued when Morgana approached Merlin in the Great Hall one Saturday at lunchtime – the one and only time she ever had – and asked him if he would feel inclined to join she and Mordred in the Astronomy tower later that day.

Which was how, two days later, Gwen was whispering a fierce and desperate desire to be a part of Merlin's and Morgana's study session – sessions that were as much talking about Mordred, and wandless magic, and arguing about Muggle Studies and Divination or agreeing over the practicality of Defence classes as actual studying. Gwen had asked, in the way she did that was almost a demand, if she could join them. How could Merlin refuse?

"Honestly, Gwen," Merlin whispered to his friend as Gorlois, sweeping his eyes over the room, turned back to the blackboard once more. "I think she would be delighted to have you along so long as you got rid of this hero-worship you have for her. I'm sure she'd appreciate the more educated conversations you'd probably have."

"I don't worship her," Gwen whispered back, though the faint touch of colour pooling in her cheeks spoke fallacy of her claim. "She's just… she's basically the smartest person in the school and… what did you mean by 'more educated conversations'?"

"Just that I'm not an idiot, and because I'm not I realise you're definitely smarter than me," Merlin replied, dipping his quill into his inkwell and tapping it with a shallow _clink_. "Morgana's really smart. She'd probably like talking to you, if, you know, I actually managed to convince her to." That was the only problem, Merlin considered. He didn't know how ready Morgana would be to take a suggestion to introduce her to his friends. Would she slip on that cold aversion, that superiority that she wore so well, and almost every moment of the day? He hoped not. Gwen would be so upset. Or at least she would be when she managed to wrestle aside her awe for a second.

"You do realise," Merlin continued under his breath. He paused as Gorlois glanced over his shoulder and raised a pointed eyebrow at him directly. Merlin offered an apologetic nod for his speaking in class but continued once more as soon as he'd turned around. "You do realise that Morgana and me, we sit together in the Slytherin common room? So you'd have to come into our common room if you wanted to join us."

Gwen immediately adopted a horrified expression. "Oh no, I couldn't do that!" She hissed, shaking her head rapidly enough that Lancelot, on her other side, glanced up from his own work to raise an eyebrow at her questioningly. "Going into another house's common room is just… it's just…"

"Not done, I know," Merlin nodded understanding. And he did know, even if it seemed nothing if not ridiculous to him. For whatever reason, tradition or foolishness, stepping over the threshold of another house's common room was something of a taboo. Not even Gwen had done so in the Gryffindor tower, and she with her brother from the house and everything. "You could still try, though. Maybe. If you really wanted to."

Gwen pressed her lips together for a moment, a frown wrinkling her brow as she turned towards the blackboard that Gorlois was gradually filling with words. "I do want to, but… it's just…"

"Don't pop a vein over it or anything. If it really worries you I could just ask if Morgana wouldn't mind going to the library sometime or something."

Gwen's beaming smile returned full force and she leaned into Merlin, wrapping an arm through his in a way that succeeded in effectively stopping his attempts at writing further. "Would you?" She whispered, the utterance a nearly inaudible squeak. "That would be wonderful! Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin didn't get a chance to reply, which was probably a good thing because the words of on the tip of his tongue, that he wasn't sure Morgana would agree to it, would have probably dampened the brightness of Gwen's smile like clouds crossing the sun. Instead, he was interrupted by the unexpected appearance of an owl in the middle of the classroom.

It dove through the single open window in a flurry of feathers, scattering a shower of down as it grazed across the windowsill and eliciting exclamations of surprise as it swept across the desks. Merlin started back in his seat as the little short-eared owl landed upon his desk, round, penetrating yellow eyes wide and staring at him from a heart-shaped face. It stuck a tufted foot out towards him in and offering of the letter it carried. The familiar short-eared owl – Benevolence by name and by nature – cocked its head pointedly.

Familiar. His mother's owl.

_What…?_

A sickening roil twisted Merlin's gut, followed almost immediately by the rushing chill of his magic responding to the sudden sense of foreboding. Owl's came at breakfast time, at mail delivery time only. Unless there was an emergency, that is, in which case the sender would demand immediate delivery regardless of the situation. The fact that Benevolence had found Merlin in the middle of class was ominous in itself.

"Emrys."

Merlin raised his wide, increasingly apprehensive gaze from that of the owl and glanced towards his professor. The kind-faced man wore an expression of resignation nearly overridden by a very distinctive concern. He knew as well as Merlin did what the arrival of the owl indicated. "Sorry, sir," Merlin croaked out, and quickly untangled the letter from Benevolence's leg.

The owl hooted quietly, to Merlin's ears a little sympathetically, before spreading her wings and sweeping back through the window. Merlin clutched the letter in his hands, the parchment faintly trembling for some reason. The letters of his name, written in his mother's cursive hand, shivered along with them.

Gwen's gently nudging elbow in his side drew his attention from the nausea welling in his gut, from his attempts at reassuring himself that _nothing's wrong, there surely can't be anything wrong with Mum, not if she managed to write the letter._ He drew his gaze towards where Gorlois had paused halfway crossed the room towards his desk. His brow was crinkled in anticipated sympathy and his hands were folded before him in an almost respectful stance.

"Take a moment, Emrys. Emergencies warrant a moment at least." He gave Merlin a faint smile that only served to intensify his feelings of foreboding. "Should you need to excuse yourself, take the opportunity to do so."

Merlin swallowed tightly and nodded his thanks as Gorlois turned back towards the head of the classroom. He barely noticed as the professor, in what seemed an excessively loud voice, began to speak. "Alright. We shall begin with our incantations first before moving onto wand motions for this task I think. Now, there is some confusion initially, given that there are two kinds of Freezing Charms, the physical freezing and the immobilising, as though they have somewhat different formations the spirit of their outcomes are relatively similar. We shall be focusing on the latter, with use of the incantation _Immobulus…_ "

Merlin barely heard his words. His gaze had fallen back to the letter in his hand, and he felt only distantly the patting of Gwen's hand on his arm, felt Freya's wide-eyed gaze from his other side as she stared at him. Swallowing once more, his fingers clumsy and trembling almost as much as the letter was, he pried open the wax seal.

Merlin usually considered himself so good at handling surprises but…

It took several blinks before his mother's handwriting came into focus.

_Merlin,_

_I am terribly sorry that I must relay this information in such a manner, but I felt it was best to address you personally rather than to pass the message through professor and headmaster. I am so sorry, my love, but there has been an incident with William. At present, no one knows just what caused it, but we are working to reverse the damage done to his magical core. But I fear for the worst – it is not looking hopeful…_

Merlin had to pause, to blink several times as he slowly read through the letter. The words barely registered in any chronology anyway, bouncing through his mind in snippets.

… _magically disabling, perhaps some kind of attack or accidental magic…_

_… didn't get a chance to ask him how it happened before he lost consciousness…_

_… doing all I can, but Merlin… I'm so sorry, but he is failing…_

_… should like to visit as quickly as you can…_

He didn't know how the letter ended. He couldn't read it. His eyes, wide and staring, didn't even see the words.

It had happened. It had happened _again_. Will may not have been able to tell anyone how – or more correctly who – but Merlin knew. He'd seen an attack before, had even anticipated it would happen again, but…

He didn't hear a word for the rest of the class. He couldn't move to pick up his quill. But when the bell sounded for the end of the period, Merlin was thrown into motion almost against his will. He was only distantly aware of the presence of Gwen hastening after him, calling in his wake, as he ran from the room.

* * *

 

"If you could teach half as well as you preach you can, Arthur, then you should definitely take over from Alator," Leon said with a groan as they wandered down towards the Great Hall for lunch. "Honestly, how he expects anyone to remember any of the information he spouts by yelling at us…"

Arthur rolled his eyes at Leon's complaining. It was a widely known fact amongst the third years – or at least in their friendship group – that Leon was appalling at History. Or any kind of rote learning for that matter. He retained knowledge better by investigating for himself, by writing and adapting and putting it into his own words. It didn't help that Alator seemed to scare the living daylights out of him from the way that he twitched compulsively every time the professor raised his voice.

"It's not that bad," Arthur said. "Surely better than some old ghost of a professor who just drones on and on without even taking a break to ask questions or anything. My father told me there used to be a professor who was like that back when he was at school."

Leon shook his head fervently. "No, old and droning is definitely better than shouting."

"Personally I actually find that some of the stuff he shouts sticks better," Elyan chimed in from Leon's other side.

Arthur snorted. "Yeah, well you would, what with living with Gwen. She's got a set of lungs on her."

"Gwen doesn't shout that much," Percival said, two steps behind them as he was want to walk – Arthur had always considered it was a by-product of him being as wide as two students and hence needing twice as much space in the hallway as everyone else. "Have you noticed that Gwen very rarely raises her voice at anyone except you, Arthur?"

Arthur frowned. "That's hardly fair."

"Unfair maybe, but true." Elyan nodded.

"Why does she only yell at me?"

"I have my suspicions that it's because she's found that tactic works so well."

The three of them laughed as they descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall. Arthur frowned at their amusement at his expense, but found himself struggling to withhold a grin of his own. It was hard to stay disgruntled in the face of his friends' merriment.

At least, Arthur struggled until he noticed the little cluster of students next to the front doors of the castle and found himself immediately distracted. Morgana, with Gwen of all people, and both of them with their attention fixed directly upon –

"Is that Emrys? With Gwen and Gorlois?" Percival, always the most observant one, noticed them first of Arthur's friends.

"Is he crying?" Leon asked with a frown. "Why is he crying? And in the Entrance Hall? I'd be horrified if anyone saw me crying."

"Good thing you lack tear ducts, then," Arthur muttered, but it was only half-heartedly. He was already starting down the stairs at a faster pace because any situation that involved both Gwen and Morgana – two people that, despite both being close to Arthur, had _never_ had anything to do with one another – would be interesting. Both were a force to be reckoned with of themselves, if in different ways.

"I do too! I do have tear ducts. And what kind of an insult is that anyway, Arthur?"

"So you can cry?" Elyan asked.

"Of course I can. I mean, I _can,_ but I don't. I mean –"

Arthur ignored the joking teasing of his friends behind him as he approached the group. Emrys, positioned between the two girls, was indeed crying. It was as horrible sight, Arthur had to admit. Arthur had seen heartbreak before. He'd seen it as the superficial crushes torn from their blissful ignorance, such as with Sophia when she'd approached him in first year. He'd seen it at a distance in his elders, such as when the few women that his father had taken to over the years since his mother's death had been disappointed. One of the most intimate times, and what he'd seen as being the most confronting, was the previous year when Morgana had broken up with Helios. Most depressingly of the situation was that Helios still evidently pined for her, even after the dismissiveness that Morgana had afforded him ever since.

Emrys' heartbreak was different entirely, so much that Arthur wondered at first if his initial impression was incorrect. His shoulders were hugged tightly to his ears as he shrunk in upon himself, his hands clasped before his mouth as though to mute any sobbing that may spill forth, and his eyes… Arthur had never seen someone so wrought with sadness before that moment. Wide and red-rimmed, eyelashes spiked with wetness, they still dribbled tears like a broken tap unable to stop.

And just as prominently was the cold. The shiver of icy magic that Arthur had felt around Emrys from time to time, the feeling that he associated as being his _–_ his magic, his feelings, _him_. It wasn't hard and cool like the steel of Morgana's magic but more the icy openness of a blizzard, a freezing gale that seemed to radiate magic and pure emotion both. Arthur was nearly blown backwards by its intensity.

Two thoughts crossed Arthur's mind when he saw the boy who he had only recently grown from disliking. The first, he sorely wished that Emrys would stop crying. Not because it particularly concerned him but… Arthur didn't like seeing people in pain. His father had always urged him to defend and protect those he cared about, to stand for his friends, and he supposed he did. Gwen had said that such overprotectiveness was one of the best parts of his character, and Arthur was unsure if such a suggestion was a complement or a criticism. His desire to defend, to help and support his friends, extended to not wanting to see them in pain. The time two years ago when Elyan and Gwen had lost their mother had been one of the most trying experiences of his life, and mostly because he simply couldn't do anything to make things right.

That upwelling of protectiveness swelled within him upon seeing Emrys crying, so unsuccessfully struggling to withhold his sobs. Arthur didn't know why –Emrys was hardly his friend, so why should he care? – but he put it down to the very fact that he was crying and Arthur _hated_ seeing people cry. Anybody. He himself hadn't cried since he was seven, since the time that his father had sat him down for a very serious talk and had fully explained to him that his mother was gone and was never coming back. Since then he'd resolved never to shed a tear, no matter what.

The second thought was remarkably similar to that Leon had voiced. Arthur couldn't _imagine_ crying as Emrys did, in the middle of the Entrance Hall for everyone to see. It would be absolutely humiliating.

He stopped just short of the trio huddled beside the door and stared at them with a mixture of wariness, sympathetic embarrassment and curiosity. Gwen was rubbing Emrys' shoulder soothingly, muttering words too quiet to be heard, but what was really surprising was that Morgana appeared to be doing the same. Not patting him, for Morgana was not one that partook of public displays of affection, but attempting verbal reassurances nonetheless.

"… can do is just go and see, yes? Uther surely couldn't forbid you leave under such circumstances. Family issues – or friend issues, for that matter – should always be prioritised over classes."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that. It would have to be the first time he'd ever heard such a statement from Morgana. He wasn't entirely sure whether she was being genuine or just attempting to comfort Emrys. For his part, Emrys hardly seemed to hear her at all, nodding but in a distracted way that mirrored the distant focus of his eyes trained on the floor.

"I'll come with you, if you'd like," Morgana continued. "I've known Uther for a long time and he'd surely listen to me if I asked him for a favour. Perhaps a portkey? Come, Merlin, calm down. We'll just go and see him."

"Crying isn't going to help anything. No one is worth your tears, anyway."

At his words, both Gwen and Morgana snapped their attention towards Arthur. It was disconcerting how similar they looked in expression in that moment, especially considering what different people they were. Not that Arthur regretted his words – they were what he truly felt, after all – but he suddenly wished he hadn't spoken them quite so readily. At least, he didn't regret them _immediately_.

Not until Emrys affixed him with a glare that could surely kill had his magic been behind it. Arthur certainly felt his magic respond to his sudden anger, icy winds sharpening to a focus and snapping at him like a whip-crack. "Shut the fuck up, Arthur. I'm allowed to cry if I bloody well want to."

His voice was thick with tears and far too quiet and croaking to be a shout, dissolving into audible sobs a moment later. Gwen's and Morgana's attention snapped back to him immediately with mirroring expressions of surprise, a surprise that Arthur found himself similarly struck by. That was the first time he'd ever seen Emrys really angry. Or, well, there was the time at the quidditch pitch over the issue of Valiant, but that seemed more vexed than angry. This was a different kind of anger entirely.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur said, falling back to affront as his go-to.

"You can just pull your nose out of it, Arthur," Gwen said, shaking herself from her surprise and giving him a glance as sharp as her tone. "You're not being of any help."

"If you really want to be of use, take yourself and your little audience there away," Morgana added, her tone coldly demanding.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at his friends shifting awkwardly at her words, at the few other students milling around behind watching with curious frowns. _If you really want to be of use…_

Frowning, pressing his lips together with a decisive nod, he spared his friends another momentary glance. "Leon, you guys head into the Great Hall. And take them with you, if you could." Arthur jerked his head towards the watching students, who started guiltily and edged away barely a step or two at most. "I'll be along in a bit."

Leon blinked in surprise, gaze flickering between Arthur and the group standing just before him. 'What? What are you going to do?"

Arthur turned back towards Emrys, ignoring Morgana's hard, forbidding stare and Gwen's warily curious one. Emrys still glared at him, but the effect was lost somewhat by the continued watering of his eyes and the hiccup he didn't quite manage to conceal. "Well, _Morgana_ thinks I should be of use," he drawled, raising an eyebrow at his friend. It only succeeded in eliciting a spark in her eyes. "And if she thinks she might be able to convince my father of something, she's got nothing upon _my_ persuasion skills."

Morgana rolled her eyes, but a definite twist of satisfaction quirked at her lips. She glanced up at Emrys, who actually appeared focused enough to return her gaze as he scrubbed at his cheeks. "He's right, unfortunately. For perhaps the first time in his life."

"Of course I'm right," Arthur said, dismissing her insult. He turned on his heel and began a long-legged stride back up the steps he'd just descended. "Come on, then. If I'm going to 'be of use', then we may as well get on with it."

He didn't glance over his shoulder to make sure they followed. Of course they would. Why wouldn't they? He was reassured nonetheless by as he climbed the stairs, however, when Gwen muttered a quite, "God, he's so presumptuous."

Morgana's reply of, "Of course he is. Presumptuous is his middle name. Right alongside Pig-headed, Arrogant and Pain in the Arse. That, and Stupidly Desperate to Prove Himself, for whatever ungodly reason he's tossing around these days." Gwen gave a small mew that could have been objection or agreement. Arthur found he preferred not knowing.

His own objections were only quelled by the knowledge that to turn and angrily reply would do him more harm than good. That, and the fact that there was no one around to hear the comment as they alighted the stairs, leaving the spectating students in the Entrance Hall behind him. Well, except for Emrys, but for some reason that didn't bother Arthur quite so much. Perhaps only because he thought that, as far as insults went, the Slytherin boy had probably thought up of them all already.

* * *

 

The Headmaster's office was empty. Or at least it was empty of Arthur's father. As he stepped through the doorway at the top of the slowly elevating stairwell, he swept a quick glance around the room. The predominance of red and gold left no allusions as to the house that Uther was once a part of, and likely suggested just as obviously that he still favoured it. A round room of high windows and walls rich with portraits of past headmasters, Arthur had always found it largely impersonal. Even with the expansive desk of ancient mahogany at the very centre of the room, the low bookshelves beneath those portraits, groaning beneath nameless books and magical devices that rested in stillness. The only realsource of homeliness and welcome in the largely sparse room, the only thing removed from the flat professionalism of the Headmaster's role, was the tall fireplace that flickered mutedly in opposite curve of the wall.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Gwen, Morgana and Emrys as they stepped into the room behind him. Arthur, with the prestige of being the headmaster's son, had the password and the access to the office that even Morgana wasn't afforded. Arthur didn't bother attempting to hide his satisfaction for that fact, had even casually asked Morgana how she'd intended to seek Uther's audience without such access on their trip over. He hadn't looked over his shoulder expectantly in the absence of her verbal reply but could feel the stabbing sentiment of her glare nonetheless.

Unfortunately, Uther was not present. Evidently. And just as unfortunately – or at least in Arthur's opinion – when he turned to state the obvious to his tag-alongs, Emrys was still crying. Silently, giving him his due if broken occasionally by muted hiccups, but that dripping tap of his tears seemed as yet unstoppered. It set Arthur's teeth on edge. Not that he cared for Emrys – he didn't, not really – but _couldn't he just stop crying?_

"Well, this was a wasted trip." He glanced between the three, at the varying degrees of irritation settled upon each of their faces. "Are you actually going to tell me what this is all about now? I'd like to know why I made the effort."

"You didn't have to 'make the effort'," Morgana sniffed. Then, striding past him into the office proper, she naturally fell to ignoring him. Gwen shook her head, as though scolding Arthur for a perceived slight, before turning to Emrys who had adopted an expression of mixed disappointment and mounting grief. Arthur was surprised to see that such an expression was nearly as bad to look upon as his continued crying and tearful anger.

"Gwen," Arthur asked, attempting to keep his tone respectful and as kindly as possible. "You could at least tell me."

Gwen always caved to openness and sincerity. Arthur knew that and used it to his advantage, though of course he'd never admit to doing such. Gwen turned a worried frown towards him, and Arthur could see that she was just on the verge of speaking when a loud "Ah-hah!" sounded behind him.

He turned to find Morgana kneeling elegantly – for everything was always done in elegance when it came to Morgana – before the fireplace. The _green_ fire, coloured with the Floo powder that she was dusting off her fingers in a shower of silvery motes. She turned a triumphant smile towards them. "I had suspected that Uther would have access to the Floo network."

"Can't all of Hogwarts fireplaces connect with the Floo?" Gwen asked, her tone confused.

"Yes, but usually only Floo messaging – you can tell because the flames are more yellow than green. Uther obviously ensures that he could travel through the network should it be necessary." Morgana turned her self-satisfied smile towards the fireplace as she rose to her feet before sparing a glance for them once more. Or, more correctly, for Emrys. "Come on, Merlin. This will be quicker than waiting for Uther to return and trying to talk a portkey out of him."

Emrys was already striding past Arthur, Gwen following in his wake with a concerned frown settling upon her brow, before he managed to speak. "You – you're just going to go through the Floo? Without permission or supervision?" He was detachedly gratified to notice Gwen slight nod, likely unconsciously, as her step hesitated momentarily. Gwen had always been one to follow school rules.

"I believe that's rather self explanatory," Morgana replied, not even glancing at Arthur as she picked up the bowl of Floo powder and offered it to Emrys. "I _did_ just say that, Arthur."

"But – but you shouldn't be _doing_ that, Morgana. The headmaster will be furious, and no matter how serious the reason –"

"Oh, do shut up, Arthur. I know you've always been one to do what you're told, but some cases call for drastic measures." She still hadn't turned from Emrys, who had scooped up a handful of the powder and was staring at the fireplace with his back to Arthur. There was a set in his stance that Arthur read as determination; he'd seen something of it before in him. Arthur wondered if he was still crying.

Morgana briefly touched his shoulder in a way that was encouraging and almost affectionate. "Go on, Merlin. I'll be right behind you."

"You don't have to come," Emrys murmured, his voice thick, quiet and still faintly choked.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. What kind of person would I be if I left you to go by yourself? Of course I'm coming." Morgana actually smiled to take the sting out of her reprimand and that said more than any words she could have given. Arthur realised instantly that, for some unknown reason, somehow, Morgana truly did like Emrys. He'd heard the rumours that the darling of Slytherin had adopted a puppy of sorts, and had similarly heard the rumours that said puppy was Emrys, but he hadn't quite believed it to be more than a passing fancy. Not even after the tales of Morgana actually approaching – and talking to! – Emrys in the Great Hall a few days ago.

But then Morgana did that sometimes. Not spoke to others – she collected things. Or people. Most she treated with disregard, but on the rare occasion she would take to someone or something, she threw herself into her care entirely. Like the kitten that she'd found when she was nine, the scrawny thing a menace and the bane of Arthur's existence. Maybe that was part of the reason why she liked it so much. The bloody creature was still alive, though blessedly Morgana left it with her elder sister during the school year.

Morgana had evidently taken to Emrys in much the same way that she had the kitten: wholeheartedly, protectively and viciously defensive when anyone challenged her right to do so. He saw it in the way that she spared Arthur a flicker of a glance after she spoke that simply forbade him from commenting on her resolution to accompany Emrys to wherever he was going.

Unfortunately, her words had an effect on Gwen, too. Shaking herself from her concerned, by-the-books schoolgirl attitude, Gwen schooled her expression into a hardened determination of her own and stepped up to Emrys' side. "I'm coming too," she said, touching him gently on the shoulder.

"Guinevere –" Arthur began, but found himself cut off by the once more identical glares Gwen and Morgana shot him. Emrys was stepping towards the fireplace a moment later, and cast the powder into the fire with a muttered "Healer's Cottage, Ealdor". The flames sparked and spluttered, flaring an even brighter green for the second before Emrys seemed to bodily trip into the fireplace with remarkable clumsiness. Maybe his tears blinded him somewhat? He disappeared in a flicker and spit of flames.

"You can't honestly think you can go –" Arthur began again, his agitation rising. But he wasn't given a chance to finish once more as, without a backwards glance, Gwen disappeared into the fireplace a moment later. He was left silenced in her wake for a moment before he snapped his attention to Morgana. "Really, Morgana, Father won't be happy about this."

"Quite honestly, Arthur, I care so little about what Uther thinks of my actions in this instance that it is barely worth considering." Morgana affixed him with a flat stare. "And _you_ will not tell him. Hopefully we'll be back before he gets the chance to return and notice we're gone."

"But _where_ are you going?" Arthur demanded, voice rising as he saw the barest possibility of him urging his friend to remain behind dwindle into nothingness. "Emrys said Ealdor. Isn't that in Ireland? What are you going to Ireland for?"

Morgana pressed her lips together thinly. "Really, Arthur, it is none of your business. You've used up all the usefulness you could provide in this situation. Now run along. I've a friend to help through a trying time." And without another word she turned from him and stepped through the fireplace.

Arthur was left staring indignantly at her afterimage. Used up his usefulness? Well, that was just unfair! Arthur wasn't useless, even if he didn't know what was going on. He didn't much care for Emrys – honestly, he _didn't_ – and didn't consider him terribly much outside of the fact that he knew he still owed him for saving him. Owed him twice, unfortunately. But suddenly he actually wanted to help. Arthur may be many things but he was never useless. Ever. And even knowing that Morgana had likely said the words as a means of reverse psychology or some such intention, because Morgana always played mind tricks on just about everyone, he couldn't suppress his need to tag along. It was both to prove his usefulness by whatever means necessary, as well as ensuring that his two friends didn't make a fool or a danger of themselves.

His feet were moving for him before he'd even fully registered that he'd decided to follow them. A brief ripple of warmth, the disembodied wreching and squeezing, the breathlessness and tugging of Floo travel, and he was ducking through the other end of the opened passage. The lick of green flames at his back died moments later, closing the gateway as the Floo network fizzled shut.

The room Arthur stepped into was small, cluttered with couches and a wall of bookshelves and another wall that depicted a mural of sorts, like a moving picture of scenery, of shrubs and unfamiliar flowers and thin reeds drifting slightly as if in a breeze. It was empty, absent of Morgana, or Gwen, or Emrys, but it only took a moment of tilting his head to listen before Arthur was setting off through the room in the direction of voices. Down a narrow hallway, he set his feet upon the bottom steps and had just begun to climb before he paused, urging himself to stop. To listen.

"… can't seem to shake it and it's only drawing more heavily from him," an unfamiliar woman's voice murmured just loud enough to for her thick Corkish accent to be heard. "I've not seen anything like it before. I suspect it was likely the product of accidental magic. Only an accident."

"You know who is was though, right?" The voice, Emrys' voice, was surprisingly hard and devoid of the thickness and wavering of tears that had afflicted it before. "You know, Mum, surely you know. Everyone would know –"

"Yes, I can hazard a guess. But my suspicions can't be proved unless someone admits to it." The woman interrupted him with a sigh. "It was an accident, Merlin. None of them would have the capacity to deliberately enact such a curse upon another person. Something like this, something Dark, requires malicious intent or pure happenstance."

"And you're so sure it's not the first?"

"Don't make accusations, Merlin," the woman replied shortly, with a touch of hardness to her tone that mirrored Emrys' almost exactly. It softened a moment later, however. "I know you're upset. I'm so sorry, my love. Truly, I am so sorry. I wish there was more that I could do, but there isn't. And baselessly accusing someone of deliberately injuring another person –"

"It's not baseless. You know Kanen doesn't like him. He hates both of us, and -" Emrys cut himself off, and there was that faint warble in his tone. Arthur imagined that the he'd had likely begun crying once more. The thought clenched Arthur's gut in discomfort and he was so focused upon ridding himself of the thought that he nearly missed the next words. "Can I… can I see him? Can I do anything?"

The woman sighed heavily. "Of course you can. Jorge and Maree are sitting with him, of course, but I'm sure they'll appreciate the company. But Merlin… I don't think there is anything you can do. Not unless…" She trailed off, though Arthur was left with the distinct impression that her unspoken words were relayed anyway. A moment later, the faint thump of footsteps sounded down the hallway overhead, the click of a door opened and the repeated click a moment later when it closed once more.

Arthur quietly climbed the stairs, peering upwards at the dimly lit landing that now held only two people upon it. Morgana, naturally, didn't appear surprised to see him in the least, though Gwen started and blinked rapidly. "Arthur? What are you doing here?"

Silent until he fell into place next to them, leaning against the strip of pale wall between two of only three doors visible, Arthur shrugged with what he hoped resembled casualness. "I could hardly let the two of you come by yourselves. You'll get in enough trouble as it is from the headmaster for coming. Maybe with my being here too he'll be less angry."

Gwen's face adopted an expression of concern, of genuine worry that spoke of her natural inclination towards following the rules once more, before she appeared to deliberately thrust the notion aside and hardened her resolve. "It doesn't matter if we get in trouble. We couldn't just let Merlin come by himself. You should have seen him in Charms, Arthur. He looked terrible."

Arthur did _not_ care terribly for Emrys, nor for how terrible he'd looked, but he would admit to a flicker of curiosity welling within him. Folding his arms, he flickered his gaze between the two girls. "Are you actually going to tell me what's going on now? I heard what they – what Emrys and his mother, was it? – what they said. I know half the story already. And besides, it's the least you could do after I, you know, stuck my neck out for you."

Gwen's face immediately fell into a frown, and Morgana predictably rolled her eyes. "No one asked you to do anything, Arthur," Gwen said accusingly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Even so, I still did. And it did help you, didn't it? Don't I at least deserve to know what it was that I helped you with?"

Morgana heaved a heavy sigh that was surely heard by every occupant of the house, but Arthur allowed it when she replied a moment later. "If you must know, I'll tell you. But breath a word of it to anyone, Arthur, and you'll rue the day you were born. I'll make sure of it."

It was Arthur's turn to roll his eyes. "Terrified, Morgana, I'm absolutely terrified."

Morgana harrumphed, leaning back against the wall alongside him, but she did speak after a deliberately extended pause. "From what I can gather, Merlin actually seems to know more about the situation in some ways than his mother does."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, interrupting with fluttering blinks of surprise.

"I mean," Morgana continued, "that I think his friend, Will – I don't believe he was injured by means of magic quite as accidental as Mrs Emrys believes." She pursed her lips. "I suspect that perhaps this is not the first time that Merlin and his friend have encountered difficulties with this Kanen fellow and his cronies."

Arthur found himself frowning. Morgana had given him precious little actual information, but he was already piecing the situation together. Emrys' friend – this Will – had been injured. Apparently terribly injured, and also apparently by accident. Or accidental magic, as the woman who must have been Mrs Emrys had stated. But Morgana seemed to think it was otherwise, and if the brief words he'd overheard from Emrys himself were anything to go by, so did he.

Which leant towards suggesting… "Bullied." Arthur raised his eyes towards Morgana, who met him stare for stare unblinkingly. "His friend was bullied. That's what you think happened? Bullied and cursed in the process?"

Morgana nodded, a barely perceivable tilt of her head. "That would be my guess, yes. Not quite the accidental magic that Mrs Emrys appears to think it. Malicious? Oh, I believe it most certainly is." Her lip curled and the flash in her eyes drew a shiver down Arthur's spine in a way that made him sorely grateful that he'd never been the subject of such focus before.

"Bullies?" Gwen's hand rose to clasp over her mouth, her eyes widening. "You think it was bullies that did it? That nearly – that might have even _killed_ Merlin's friend. And… and…" she swallowed audibly. "You think it might have happened before? Do you think that _Merlin_ was bullied by them?"

Arthur flinched, both at her suggestion and at her revelation. Nearly killed? _Almost_ killed? That was how serious it was? And the product of bullying, no less? He shook his head. "I despise bullying."

Morgana snorted. "Oh, yes, very easy for you to say, Arthur, you hypocrite. What do you call what happened with Michael Morris earlier this year?"

"It's called retaliation," Arthur growled. "Morris started it, and he's been the one who's been poking at _me_ for years first. I just had to put a stop to it. Nothing even happened anyway."

"And I'm sure you needed the assistance of your holiday seniors to do 'nothing'?" Morgana replied sarcastically.

"They didn't do anything," Arthur repeated, biting his words off angrily. He was angered by more than just Morgana's suggestion. "They just let him know that he had to back off or else we'd take it further. And only because he wouldn't listen when I tried to tell him to stop like a rational person."

"Taking it further? That's reassuring me of your fairness, oh yes indeed."

"I meant taking it to the professors," Arthur ground out. He wasn't in the mood for splitting hairs with Morgana, even less because he didn't particularly like to recall what had happened the previous holiday. And not only because it had hardly made a dint in Morris' attitude – the whole situation around meeting Emrys for the first time was a bit of a black mark in his memory.

No, Arthur was angry. He was angry at the prospect of what had truly happened in this situation that he knew next to nothing about. He was angry on behalf of a boy that he had precious little to do with, that he'd disliked for most of their acquaintance and that he uncomfortably knew he owed a significant amount to for the rest of it.

Emrys had been bullied. Or at least his friend had, and it wasn't just playful teasing, largely harmless or even mildly distressing but eventually able to be moved past. This was serious. This was dangerous and this friend of Emrys'… had he really nearly been killed? Cursed so that he was, what, dying? Who would even do such a thing? Such a curse would surely require a significant amount of malicious intent to cast, even accidentally. Or perhaps especially accidentally.

He didn't realise he was grinding his teeth until Gwen murmured that she could hear him from where she stood leaning on the bannister. Raising his gaze from where he'd been glaring at the pale carpet beneath his feet, he glanced sidelong towards Morgana. "What are we going to do?"

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "What are _we_ going to do?"

"Yes, we. I'm here too, now, so get used to the idea. I may as well help in any way that I can." He felt his face settle into a frown, refastening his gaze upon his toes. "Surely there's something we can do."

Arthur could just see from his periphery the considering stare Morgana settled upon him. "The best thing we can do would be to offer Merlin support if and when he needs it. We can be the ones to offer it when he seeks that support."

Arthur didn't like to wait. Or more correctly, he didn't like to wait when such waiting was entirely unproductive. Besides, if Emrys did need something from his friends, it would be Gwen and, as he had come to understand, Morgana who would offer it to him. Arthur would most likely be dismissed outright, perhaps with a passing glare and an accusing "What are you doing here?" if Emrys' single statement towards him that afternoon was any indication.

"So we just wait?"

"There's not really anything else we can do."

"It will likely be a while we'll be waiting," Arthur muttered, eyes still downcast.

"Yes, quite a while, I could imagine," Morgana agreed. "I'd say at least an hour." She paused, then continued with casual observation that Arthur heard as anything but, "I wonder how many people are in this town? I've heard that Ealdor is not very big. I'm sure everybody knows everybody."

Ignoring Gwen's curiously raised eyebrow, Arthur slowly turned towards Morgana. "Not very big at all, I shouldn't think. It would probably take less than an hour to cross the entire town and come back."

"Certainly," Morgana nodded. "And I'm sure that everyone _would_ know everyone. Besides, there would surely be few enough young witches and wizards in count. He shouldn't be terribly hard to find."

"What are you…?" Gwen asked, her curiosity shifting to confusion and mild worry.

But Arthur was nodding. This. This he could do. This he was good at. Being _productive._ Besides, what he could do it wasn't bullying, not when it was in retaliation. And not when it was on a plane of equal footing. Arthur did _not_ bully. He turned towards the stairwell once more without another word.

"Arthur? Where are you going?" Gwen called quietly after him as he hastened down the stairs. Arthur didn't reply.

"You know, I think I might fancy a walk myself," Morgana said casually, and Arthur didn't need to turn to know she was following him. "Smith, you can wait here, yes? I doubt Merlin will be out with any promptness but just in case."

"I… yes, yes I'll wait here." With a glance behind him, Arthur saw Gwen, innocent, kindly Gwen, nodding but frowning in continued confusion. "But where are you going? Arthur?"

Arthur didn't reply. He would rather maintain Gwen's innocence, at least for a little longer. Not that he was going to do anything to Kanen. Not anything permanent. But…

Arthur really didn't like bullies.


	13. A Reveal of Truths

                                                                       

It had been hours. Merlin wasn't sure how long exactly, but he was fairly certain he'd been sitting at Will's bedside for hours.

Or maybe it was just minutes and it felt like hours. He wasn't sure if he could tell if it was.

All he knew was that he'd been sitting in one of three chairs beside his own bed, the bed that Will filled, and had been staring almost unblinkingly at his best friend since he'd stepped into the room. It wasn't a large room, and felt cramped with the addition of the chairs and the presence of Will's parents seated on the opposite side of the bed. But Merlin didn't care. He didn't care at all whether there were three or one hundred other people in the room. He couldn't draw his eyes from Will.

It seemed impossible that the curse had only been cast the previous evening. Will wore the guise of one who was chronically ill and experiencing a rapid decline. His skin was a sickly pallor, the colour of uncooked chicken, and there were deep shadows smudging beneath his eyes, outlining the hollows of his cheeks that were far thinner than they had any right to be. A thin layer of sweat glistened upon his skin and his lips were chapped and bleeding. And that was just his face.

Hunith had said that the magic was drawing upon his energy at an accelerated rate, more so than the natural exchange of energy for magical use experienced in every witch or wizard. That in an attempt to undo the fraying damage of the link between magic and life force, the strength of his body was being eaten alive like food gobbled by a starving man. It showed in the single arm that Merlin had tucked away beneath the blankets when he'd arrived. It had been thin, far too thin, with protruding bones and nails flaking and yellowing. It shouldn't be possible for someone to deteriorate so quickly. It had been less than a _day._

At least it shouldn't have been possible. Not without a curse. A horrible, horrendous curse that was placed with the intent to do damage, and the ultimate damage – to extinguish a wizard's magic. It shouldn't have been possible, not with accidental magic. Not from just one person, which was why Merlin suspected that – though he was almost certain that he'd spearheaded the attack – Kanen was not the sole culprit of the curse.

He had no solid evidence for Kanen's guilt. Hunith had been unable to tug the curse loose enough from its clinging grasp to even detect a shadow image of the magic used to determine the identity of the caster. That was how deeply set, how interwoven and tightly tied it had become. The speed of its assimilation was nauseating. When Merlin considered that, considered its strength, it was no wonder that Will's body had declined so rapidly. The curse had set its teeth into his magical core and like a gluttonous leech was sucking the energy from his body which thence smothered his magic.

Merlin almost wished the Kanen stood before him. No, he didn't have evidence, but he knew. He _knew_ it had been him that had so badly hurt Will. It was always Kanen. For the first time he suspected that he might actually be able to genuinely hurt someone. Hurt them and almost enjoy it. He thought he could –

"Merlin, I think you should perhaps get some rest. You need to sleep."

Slowly, for the first time since he'd entered the room, Merlin blinked his attention away from his thoughts and Will's fitfully unconscious face. He turned hazily towards Maree, her thin face and straight features so vastly different from Will's own and yet so familiar. She was a hard woman, strict even, but her kindness radiated from her like a visible cloud.

That kindness was dampened by tiredness – no, by exhaustion – by grief and, most prominently, by fear. Though she hid it well, Merlin could tell she was terrified. Her only son was lying dying –

 _No. No he's not dying he's… he's_ not _._

Merlin had to tell himself that. He had to maintain his resolution that Will would _not_ _die_. That he couldn't die, wouldn't, regardless of the fact that he looked on the verge of it. Regardless of the fact that the curse was… that it was…

The tears that Merlin had thought were vanquished after his first uncontrollable bout at Hogwarts rose to the fore once more. He swallowed convulsively, squeezing his hands into tight fists that were nearly painful for his nails cutting into his palms. He shook his head as he turned back to Will. "No, I don't – I don't want to leave." His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"It's alright, Merlin. We'll call you if anything happens." Jorge, Will's father, round face drawn into lines of his own fear, attempted and failed to give a reassuring smile. "Go and find your bed. Or… well, I'm sorry that Will's taking yours but –"

"It's fine, Mr Wood," Merlin said, his voice still thick and nearly inaudible. "I don't want to sleep now anyway."

"Merlin –" Maree attempted again, but she cut herself off as Hunith stepped into the bedroom door. Merlin immediately dragged his attention towards her, seeking some reassurance, some knowledge that she might know how to help Will. What he saw seized his heart in his chest and stilled his breath.

She had felt something. With the acquired magical sixth sense of every practiced Healer, she had felt something that had changed in her patient's condition. And from the schooled blankness of her expression, Merlin knew it couldn't be good.

His mother didn't speak as edged into the little bedroom. Her wand was drawn before she'd even reached Will's bedside, and she was casting a constant stream of wordless charms with swift sweeps of her hand. Merlin wasn't sure what they were without their incantation, didn't know what they did, but he watched his mother's face keenly for a any telling hintof expression. He gradually felt a renewed coldness trickle through him as her face grew harder and harder. Then –

It happened so fast that Merlin didn't realise until Maree and Jorge slumped backwards in their seats that Hunith had cast the Sleeping Spell. Their heads dropped backwards, expressions become lax and losing their tightness, their frowns of worry momentarily softened. But even then, sleep couldn't quite remove every lingering trace of the anxiety that settled visibly the both of them.

Slipping her wand back into the sleeve of her robe, Hunith turned back towards Will. Then she glanced up towards Merlin. If he had felt chilled before, his very bones ached with coldness of her single glance. "Merlin…"

"No," Merlin said sharply. Or tried to say sharply, but it came out as more of a feeble warble, a disconsolate whine. His gaze fastened upon Will, his friend still and silent as he had been since Merlin had arrived. So still. _No_ , _it couldn't be. He was just… I just saw him, he was fine, he was breathing, he was just…_

"I'm so sorry, my love. The nature of the curse – it was simply too much." Her voice was tender yet rich with her own grief.

_No, no, no, no, this can't be happening, this can't be –_

"You can fix him." Merlin swallowed tightly, painfully. His eyes had filled with tears, blurring and skewing the image of his friend as he lay prone – _not dead, he wasn't dead_ – in Merlin's own bed. "Mum, please, you – you _can fix him_ , Mum. You can –"

"Merlin," Hunith sighed, and she leaned across the width of the bed to place a hand upon the side of his head. "Merlin, I can't… _I_ can't."

It wasn't fair. It _wasn't fair_. How could Will be dying? _Had_ died? No, he couldn't have – he couldn't have died, surely not, not _Will_. It wasn't possible that he could be alive and breathing in one second and in the next simply not. He _wasn't_ dead yet, he just _wasn't_. Why? Why couldn't his mother do something? Why couldn't anyone –?

The thought shorted Merlin's racing mind in an instant. _Someone_ could. Maybe not Hunith, but…

He turned a wide, tearful gaze towards his mother. Then towards Will's parents. It made sense suddenly why Hunith had spelled them into sleep. And why, even though he could no longer see her expression through the blurriness of his eyes, Merlin could feel her apprehension, her fear, that was something aside from that which had filled Merlin, Maree and Jorge for hours on end. Because his mother wouldn't ask Merlin – she would never ask, not when there was such danger in doing so. She didn't _want_ to ask, not when to use his Gift was so dangerous in itself, so potentially disastrous.

But this was Will.

Merlin didn't have to ask his mother for permission. He didn't need to. Even if she had meant something else, Merlin knew that he had to do this. He had to use his Gift, because… because this was _Will_. And it didn't matter if someone found out. It didn't matter if he became hated for something he hadn't chosen to possess, if he was considered evil or Dark. He would save his friend.

Again.

Hands reaching out before him, Merlin bowed his head as his fingers came to rest atop Will's still form. One hand settled upon his chest, another resting on his forehead, and they trembled enough to send a wracking shiver through Merlin's entire body.

The Gift lay coiled deep inside him, an ice demon dozing and waiting for the moment it would be called upon. It never took much to draw it to the fore, to urge it from its sleepiness. The difficulty lay in drawing it back, in tamping down the power when it arose, whipping and snapping and straining at the bit to be released.

Closing his eyes, Merlin eased his hold. And the beast sprang forth, leaping from him with a keen focus, a falcon diving for its prey. He lost himself in the release.

* * *

 

Merlin had always been alone as a child.

Not that he really cared. Not all that much, anyway. That was simply how it was. He didn't abhor others company – quite the opposite, actually; he enjoyed talking and would natter his mother into sighs of weariness and affectionate exasperation at any opportunity – but others seemed to find him less than agreeable. It took some years for him to realise why that truly was.

It was because of him magic. Because of his 'accidental' magic, as most people called it, but for Merlin it was far from accidental. Since the moment he could open his eyes, his mother had said that he had been Summoning and Banishing with the skill of a practiced wizard. Only Summoning and Banishing, mind, but it was conducted with such deliberation, such ease, that the restriction to telekinesis was hardly considered a limitation.

At first, people had thought it was curious. The other children Merlin's age had widened their eyes in awe and badgered him to "Do it again! Do it again!" and he would happily oblige. He'd enjoyed the simple rush of cool magic tingling along his fingers even more than other people appeared to enjoy watching it. At least until their parents noticed, parents whose attitude was less admiring and more guarded, becoming wary and confused. It was strange, unnatural for a child to use wandless, wordless magic so easily and with such abandon. If he could cast a simple Summoning so easily from such a young age, what else could he do? What would he be able to do when he was more practiced?

The children felt their parents' wariness, and awe shifted to guardedness. To fear. And where fear arose, hatred brewed. None acted out against Merlin – they would have been warned not to provoke a child with such blatant magical talent – but they hated him in a different way. Through distant glares, through barbed comments called from half a street away, through exclusion.

In the first years of Merlin's life, he had become very good at spending time by himself. Until he met Will.

Will was as much of an outcast in some ways as Merlin, though was not so physically ostracised. Though he was never one to actively participate in the games, to partake in speaking loudly or delivering verbal blows of dislike and caution lobbed towards Merlin, he still spent time with those of their cohort. That was the way of the children of Ealdor – they banded together, spending every moment of their free time in hoards divided by vague age brackets. All of them except for Merlin, who would be more likely to idle away an afternoon helping his mother cook up a storm, or mixing poultices, or picking medicinal herbs in the forest.

Well, Merlin and Will.

Will had always simply remained on the outskirts of the playing children. He was an animated boy, appeared to always be attempting to participate from what few glimpses Merlin had of him, but to little use. He was simply a little different from the other children. He didn't agree immediately with their arguments, spoke his own opinion and declared when he liked or disliked something, and as a result he was shunted to the very fringes of their attention. In many ways, Merlin thought that might be worse than how they treated him. At least for Merlin it was a clean break; there was no taunting dangling of a carrot, the opportunity to be drawn back into the bounds of 'acceptable' and 'wanted'. Not like there was with Will.

It was pure chance that saw Merlin wandering down to the little pond by himself one early winter six years ago. Supposedly he was looking for herbs, but Merlin had become distracted with making a plume of orange and yellow leaves dance along the tree line. He'd taken his time to collect them, with most of the autumnal leaves having disappeared into oblivion over the past months. He followed their passage, barely conscious of where his feet were taking him s he danced amongst them, and it was that unconsciousness that led him to the pond.

The children that crowded around it ringed Will's lone figure as he stood distinctly separate from the rest of them on the very edge of the pond. Merlin paused in step, the whirlwind of leaves drifting momentarily forgotten to the ground. He listened without meaning to, morbidly curious at how the scene before him would play out.

"Don't be a wimp, Will," one of the watchers said. "Just give it a go and do it, already. We've all done it before."

"Yeah, but when you did it, it wasn't so cold," Will objected. His round face was flushed and he wore a mutinous expression as his eyes darted between the half dozen or so other children around him. "Besides, I'm not stupid like you guys all are."

Merlin cringed at the words. Even he knew it wouldn't help to egg the other children on with insults, regardless of whether they were warranted or not. Will, loud-mouthed, assertive and stubborn as he was, didn't seem to realise that. He didn't waver in his objection, not even when the rest of the children rapidly adopted mirroring scowls of anger.

"We're not stupid," grumbled one of the girls. Merlin her as Keira as she tossing her head to the side and flipped her hair in a manner she'd certainly adopted from her mother though wasn't half as graceful.

Wallace at her side nodded his agreement. "Yeah. If anyone's stupid it's you, Will. What sort of a friend doesn't do what their other friends tell them to?"

"Yeah, Will."

" _You're_ stupid."

"Just do it, Will."

"We won't be your friend anymore if you don't."

Will's face grew redder and redder with each comment. Merlin could only watch in sympathy; he felt sorry for the other boy, but that didn't mean he was inclined to jump to his rescue. He hardly knew him but for the fact that he didn't really seem as scared of Merlin as the rest of the children and that he lived just down the street from him.

"If I have to jump into a freezing pond to be your friend, then maybe I don't want to be your friend at all!" He finally said. Or shouted, as he had to in order to be heard over the rising volume of the other children's urging.

They silenced immediately. In shock, perhaps, or maybe affront. There was a moment of awkward shifting before one boy, the tallest and older than Merlin by a couple of years, finally stepped towards Will.

Merlin could tell from the surety of his stride, from the proud set of his shoulders and the lift of his nose in the air who it was. If there was going to be a leader in their group then it would be Kanen. He wasn't quite the oldest Merlin didn't think, but he was certainly the most confident of the lot of them.

"You're so boring, Will. We were just trying to have some fun. Just do it, already. Just jump in the pond."

"I don't want to," Will replied in a grumble.

Kanen took another step forwards. "Do it. We've all done it before. You should have to do it too."

"No, I don't –"

"What, can't you swim?"

Will somehow flushed even redder. The ruddiness in his cheeks was almost purple, and Merlin considered it to be driven more by anger than embarrassment. "I can too swim."

"Then do it."

"I don't _want_ to."

"Do it, Will. Do it."

"No, I don't want to, Kanen –"

" _Do it_. _Get in the pond already_!"

The ring to Kanen's barking words was different than those before. Merlin heard it, like a stinging, ringing sound, the buzzing of a passing fly in his ears. He saw it in a brief flash of dark red, almost as dark as Will's cheeks, that he unconsciously knew belonged to magic. That resonance stretched, reached, and struck at Will like a slapping hand.

Will's scowl smoothed in an instant. Even from the edge of the forest, nearly thirty meters away, Merlin could see the sudden glassiness of the other boy's eyes. He watched as Will turned to the sudden excitement of the other children, took two quick steps to the edge of the pond, and threw himself inside. The place of water erupted remarkably high, like a water spout spurting into the air.

Instantly, crows of triumph split the air.

"He did it! He really did it!"

"You're the best, Kanen."

"You finally got him to do it."

The bursts of laughter, the shouts of glee and the chattering of success became a chorus of unintelligible words that Merlin barely attended to. His gaze was fastened frowning, upon the pond's surface, smoothing from the splashing that had been Will's entrance. Gradually even the bubbles stopped, slowing to ripples that became flatness after his interruptive passage. Will didn't come back up again. He didn't appear break that smooth surface.

Slowly, the other children seemed to realise it too. Their talk died, their enthusiasm dampening, and all eyes slowly turned towards the pond.

"Where… where is he?"

"What happened? Why isn't he coming back up?"

"Kanen? Kanen, what's happening? What did you do?"

Kanen didn't reply. He didn't even shake his head. Some of the confidence had fallen from his stance, however, his shoulders hunching slightly, and it fled entirely when, without a word, the tall boy turned tall and ran. He didn't look back once, his expression wide-eyed and flooded with guilt. He didn't appear to notice Merlin as he pelted past him, nor did he seem to hear the calls of the other children as, abandoning their rising terror at Will's absence, they chased after him. Within seconds, they group had disappeared towards town.

The moment their calls faded Merlin was racing across the distance between the forest and the pond. He didn't know what drove him, what urged him to hasten to the aid of someone he barely knew and probably disliked him the same way that everyone did. That didn't pause him as he charged headlong towards the water. His mother had always told him that he was supposed to help people, to be kind to them, that everyone deserved that kindness even if they sometimes annoyed him. Merlin didn't entirely believe that, wasn't really sure why he should have to be nice to people who weren't nice to him. If it made his mother happy, though, then he would try.

Will hadn't been mean to him. Will hadn't been anything to him, granted, but he hadn't been mean enough to warrant Merlin's irritation. Not enough to urge Merlin to deliberately steer clear of him. It was that thought that sat with Merlin as, with a jump that was as much a fall in tripping over his own feet, Merlin leapt into the pond.

It was cold. Bitterly cold, as water tends to be degrees in temperature less than the chilled air that settled atop it. Merlin's breath immediately rushed from his lungs, but he ignored that fact. He wasn't terrible at swimming, but he wasn't fantastic either. Ealdor was far enough from any significant water body that to learn such a rudimentary skill wasn't considered a necessity. Still, regardless of his absence of such a skill, he set to kicking downwards, to clawing his way through the icy darkness, fingers skimming across weeds and prying through slick algae. He could hardly see anything it was so dark.

He found Will. Found him as an even darker, unmoving shape resting at the bottom of the pond. Merlin didn't consider whether he'd hit his head or was simply tied down by the weight of the magic Kanen had thrown at him. He reached down and, with an almighty tug of both magic and physical strength, he drew him to the surface.

Will wasn't breathing when Merlin dragged him ashore. He was limp and lifeless, eyes closed and mouth hanging laxly open. Merlin hadn't been able to stop his knee-jerk response. Almost without his direct intention, his magic, his Gift, had welled within him and had simply corrected the situation. It removed the wrong that was the lifelessness of the boy before him. In a wash of biting iciness, even colder than the chill of the water that sagged Merlin's clothes, it had swept loose and rolled over Will in a cascade of magic.

Will's spluttering jerked Merlin away from his handhold, from the grasp he still held upon Will's arm. That was a good thing, his cold-fogged and suddenly exhausted mind registered, even if he couldn't quite comprehend why. Falling back onto his heels on the wet, winter-wilted grass, Merlin released him with a convulsive withdrawal.

Will coughed, turning himself onto his side and spewing out a pint of water with each retch. His face had become completely pale, so opposite of the redness he'd worn on his cheeks before that it was startling. His dark eyes blinked hazily, and a hand rose to swipe his fringe aside.

Awareness settled upon him slowly, and when it had barely set its teeth into him Will turned his attention towards Merlin. Panting heavily, a shiver setting his teeth to chattering, Will blinked up at him. "Th-th-thank you, Selkie. You saved me."

Merlin, arms wrapping around himself in a useless attempt to stave off his own trembling, blinked in confusion. "Selkie? I'm not a Selkie."

Will shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly as his teeth rattled enough to set his head to shaking. No, his gaze hadn't focused quite yet. Maybe that was where the confusion came form. "Not…? You're not a…?"

Merlin shook his head. It was more of an exaggerated shiver than a gesture of dissent. "No. I'm just me. 'Sides, I'm pretty sure that Selkie's only live in salt water."

Slowly, finally, as he pushed himself upright on trembling arms, Will's gaze focused fully. "Merlin?"

"Yup."

"You saved me?"

"Yup."

"I… I couldn't…" Will swallowed and gave a convulsive tremble that was more of a shudder of fear than a shiver from the cold. "I couldn't swim. For some reason, my arms and legs wouldn't listen to me. I tried, but…" His bottom lip began to quiver alongside the chattering of his teeth, his face wrinkling in distress.

Merlin, frowning – he'd never had to deal with a situation like this before – tentatively stretched out an awkward hand and patted Will on the shoulder. The other boy barely seemed to notice. "It's alright now. I got you out. You're okay now."

Will peered up at him with head still bowed. Within his gaze some faint light seemed to grow. It was almost wondering. "Yeah. Yeah, you did. I really… thank you, Merlin."

"No problem," Merlin said, offering Will a smile. "Come on, though. It's really, really cold and Mum says that if you stay out in the cold too long you'll get frostbite and your fingers will fall off."

Though Will's expression became faintly horrified, he took the hand that Merlin offered him and allowed himself to be drawn staggeringly to his feet. By the time they had made it halfway home, he had even begun to smile a little.

Merlin and Will had been friends ever since. Friends against the world, Will liked to call them, and it truly did seem to be as such sometimes. Almost every moment of almost every day when not under the tedious tutelage of their parents they were together, exploring the forests surrounding Ealdor and clambering through the high boughs of sturdy trees, teaching one another how to swim properly so that such an incident could _never_ happen again, even if being caught under the web of compulsion would erase any such competency.

They didn't tell anyone that it was Kanen who had urged Will into the pond. When Will's parents had asked they'd said only that he'd fallen in and Merlin had saved him. Their silence was not a product of any forgiveness towards the children so much as the fact that they both mutually decided that it would be better to weather the nervous jitteriness that descended into glares rather than face the full weight of Kanen's hatred should they dob him in.

Will still called him Selkie. The name was acquired from the momentary haziness that had clouded his mind, that had morphed Merlin's form into that of a magical creature who, Will had perceived, had saved him. He used it as much to tease Merlin, who had long since given up attempting to correct him, as to remind himself of how they had met. Or so he had said to Merlin, anyway. Merlin actually found that he didn't mind it so much. It reminded him each time Will called him such that he had a friend, a friend close enough to even call him a nickname.

It was an easy friendship. So easy in fact that Merlin often wondered how they hadn't become friends long before – they just seemed to click, the two of them. They lived in each other's pockets, and for the most part both Will's parents and Merlin's mother seemed ecstatic for the fact. Happy, and slightly relieved. Adult accompaniment and companionship couldn't quite compensate for the lack of friends of a similar age.

It had been as hard for Will as it was for Merlin when he left for Hogwarts, Merlin knew. He knew from the moment that Hunith had begun to talk about the necessity for him to leave, after the patient he had accidentally-on-purpose helped had uttered a speculation that drifted dangerously close to mentioning Merlin's Gift. Both he and his mother were terrified of anyone finding out; if his wandless magic was noteworthy and invoked unease bordering on fear, what would the attitude be towards a Dark gift?

But nevertheless, despite the necessity, it had hurt to leave Ealdor. It had hurt for Merlin to leave his mother and it hurt to leave Will. He'd known that he was effectively leaving his friend without his support, and had pondered countless times how he could make it up to him, how he could still help him while being a country away. He always came up blank.

And then the worst had happened. Worse even than the incident with the pond, when they'd first become friends. Merlin had known as soon as he'd received his mother's letter, even only able to read bits and pieces of it, who it had been that had cursed Will. 'Accidentally', she had said, but Merlin knew it was about as accidental as was the compulsion that had nearly driven his friend to drown himself years before. And this time it was worse. So much worse.

The curse had blanketed Will's magic. It had shrouded it in a thick, impregnable cloud that had effectively cut off its tie to his life force while simultaneously draining his bodily strength in an attempt to rid itself of the curse. Everyone knew that magic was as essential to a witch or wizard as air, as water, as blood. The curse was intended to _kill_.

How could Merlin not use his Gift? Seeing his best friend – his first friend, his dearest friend, one who had until recently been his only friend – lying lifeless and immobile in Merlin's own bed, how could he resist? It didn't matter in that moment that someone might find out about it, that he might be accused of Darkness, of evilness, for simply possessing something that _was_ Dark.

Because this was Will. And for the second time in his life, Merlin allowed the Gift to well within him and wrap his friend in its chilling embrace.

* * *

 

Consciousness returned to Merlin slowly. It was like swimming out of a deep well, drifting rather than clawing his way to the surface, towards the wavering point of light settled high overhead. He blinked before he could see, deepening his breathing in an effort to draw life into his sleeping muscles.

His bedroom swum into view at a sideways angle. The familiar antique desk, the posters he'd drawn and hung from the walls since he was a child, the tall, ridiculous candelabra he'd gotten from Will for his birthday as a joke three years ago, candles alit and bathing the room in a warm glow. The curtains hung stagnant before the closed window, showing just a hint of morning light peeking above the horizon.

And his bed. Merlin's bed that he lay half on top of, his lower half perched on the cushioned wooden seat while his upper slumped upon blankets and mattress. His head rested upon the quilt, cricked at an awkward, uncomfortable angle that drew a wince from him when he finally pushed himself upright.

He saw Will's parents still seated across the bed. They were sleeping in their seats in exactly the same position that they had been in before – limp and flopping as they had very much been forcibly tripped into unconsciousness. He saw his mother sitting on the desk chair, and her wearily attentive gaze, tight with concern, eased into a faint smile as she met his gaze. And then her attention drew towards Will and the reality of the situation bombarded Merlin like a Blasting Charm.

He whipped his head around fast enough that the ache in his neck squealed a protest, but he hardly heard it. Heart racing once more, terror and hope a confusing mixture inside him, his gaze fastened upon Will. As he did he suddenly felt like he could breathe once more.

"Hey, Selkie. You look terrible."

Will. Will was awake. He was alive and he was talking and… and…

_He hadn't died._

Merlin gave a sob before he managed to cover his mouth and attempt to muffle the sound. He was barely aware of his mother as she rose from her seat and slipped quietly from the room, his attention focused solely upon Will, upon the feeble smile he attempted to give him and the _life_ that was very, very much radiating from him.

He didn't look well. He didn't look much better than how he had when Merlin had first raced into the room in what he assumed must now be the previous day. His skin was still pale – far too pale – and the shadows beneath his eyes hadn't lifted. He was still sickly thin and the exhaustion that settled upon him couldn't quite be hidden by his attempted joviality.

But the Darkness, the curse that had settled upon him… Merlin wasn't a Healer, was far from the skills of even the most amateur of qualified practitioners, but he knew how to detect the presence of a curse. He could see that the curse was gone. More than that, the link between Will's magic, the link that could be seen by anyone who knew what to look for, was as bright and strong as ever.

Which meant that Will wasn't dead. He hadn't… Will hadn't lost his magic. Merlin hadn't lost him.

His voice was a strained croak when he replied. "You're one to talk. Would you like me to get you a mirror? Then you might not be so fast to criticise how I look."

Will gave a chuckle – he actually laughed. The sound was like music to Merlin's ears, and not because Will had a particularly melodic laugh. Anything but, in fact; Merlin had often teased him that he sounded like a donkey. "Yeah, well, what did you expect? You complaining?"

"I'm not complaining." Merlin shook his head. "I'm not. I don't care what you look like." He sniffed, an effort to restrain the tears that threatened to spill forth once more. "I really don't, Will. I'm just h-happy… I'm so happy you're o-okay."

Will grasped his hand in an awkward motion and that was enough for Merlin to loose his wavering control. Tears sprung from his eyes, rolling freely down his cheeks once more, and Merlin was blessed only with the knowledge that they fell silently. It hurt. He hurt, even though it was a good kind of hurt. He'd been so scared, terrified, and now that terror was vanquished. It had been turned on its head and replaced by relief and joy that was so sheer and encompassing it stung.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Merlin pressed his free hand across his mouth. He struggled to compose himself, to bite back the incessant tears, but it did little good. The gentle squeezing of Will's hand actually seemed to make it worse. He did manage to open his eyes when Will finally spoke, however, glancing towards him.

"It's okay, Merlin. Seriously, you don't need to cry. You don't. I'm okay, I'm…" He paused, and Merlin saw his exhausted gaze become briefly intense. "It was because of you, wasn't it? You again. You…"

Merlin clamped his eyes shut once more. His tears became thick with shame more than heartfelt relief, a shame that had previously been suppressed by necessity and desperation. "I'm sorry, Will. I'm sorry I used it." His voice was muffled, barely audible through the hand he still pressed against his lips. "There wasn't any other choice, I didn't know what else to do, and you'd almost… you were –"

"Merlin." Will's grasp on his hand tightened enough to hurt, squeezing to creak his bones with a strength that was entirely unexpected from his visible weakness. "Stop apologising. Why the hell would you apologise for that?"

"Because. Because it's Dark, and evil –"

"I've already told you it's not. I always tell you that." For all of his feebleness, Will managed to make his tone both exasperated and richly condescending. He shook his head limply on his pillow, fingers till digging into Merlin's hand. "How could you even say that after saving me? _Twice_?"

Merlin swallowed, releasing his hand from his mouth to wipe at the tears still trickling down his cheeks. "Because it's Dark."

"That's not really a reason."

"It is. Dark magic's evil. Everyone knows that, because people do bad things with it. It hurts people, Will. You know that everyone who's ever had a Gift like mine has –"

"Yeah, other people," Will interrupted. He fastened a sharp stare upon Merlin that was made no dimmer by his wearily sunken cheeks. "That doesn't mean that _you'd_ use it for evil. I know you, Merlin. You wouldn't do that."

"Maybe I would," Merlin mumbled, dropping his gaze from Will's. It was uncomfortable to be the focus of such heartfelt belief and conviction. "Maybe my Gift would make me act that way. How would you know?"

"Well, how would you know that it would?" Will shook Merlin's hand loosely, gently, until Merlin raised his gaze towards him once more. "You seem so intent on thinking it's bad. Look at how many times you've helped me –"

"It's only been twice."

"- and you still think that it's bad. Do you think it's a bad thing that you've saved me, Merlin? Do you want to take back doing it?"

"Of course I don't." Merlin couldn't help but glare at Will. He couldn't stop himself; he felt as though all of his emotions – relief, frustration, horror, grief, confusion, guilt – where hyper focused and sharpened, clamouring for attention. He wouldn't have been able to ignore them if he'd tried. "Don't be an idiot, Will. Of course I don't.."

"Then stop thinking that others would. Or that anybody else would blame you." He paused, then, evidently realising that Merlin wasn't going to reply to his persistence, continued. "It's not like anyone will know, anyway."

Merlin slowly drew his gaze back towards will. His anger, his frustration, had died as quickly as it had birthed. "Kanen will know."

Will twitched at the mention of the other boy. If Merlin had harboured any suspicions as to who had attacked him, who had cursed him, they were alleviated in that moment. Will fidgeted, dropping his eyes from Merlin's briefly before resettling them once more. There was understanding, an exchange of heartfelt understanding, that passed between them momentarily.

"What happened, Will?" Merlin asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

Shaking his head, Will gave another chuckle. It held not the faintest trace of amusement. "It was… I was stupid. Kanen was stupid, and I was stupid. I shouldn't have said what I did, but I did, and Kanen got mad and –"

"That's no reason to curse you, though." Merlin scowled. He once more wished that Kanen were in the room, because then he'd show the other boy what a real curse looked like. Maybe that sort of Darkness wasn't all that bad.

Will gave a shrug that was too tight to be casual and disregarding. "The idiot probably didn't even know what he was doing. He didn't actually cast a spell or anything, didn't even have his wand out – it was accidental magic, even if I know it wasn't an accident what he did. And all the rest of them –"

"The others too? They helped him?" Merlin felt his anger rise once more, the coldness of his fury spreading through his gut.

"That was an accident too," Will muttered. "I know it was, them linking together and all cursing me at once. All of them looked surprised, even Kanen, but the rest of them more than him. I don't think they even knew what they'd done."

"That doesn't excuse them for what they did," Merlin hissed.

"I'm not excusing them," Will said with a definite shake of his head. "I'm not, Merlin. I'll beat the shit out of Kanen the next time I see him, I swear I will. And all the rest of them too. Bloody bastards."

They subsided into angry silence, the silence of mutual contemplation that simmered with the hatred that Merlin knew was as much Will's as his own. His friend's hand still grasped tightly, unwaveringly, and it was the force of that which inevitably soothed Merlin. For all of his anger, his hatred of Kanen, the relief and reassurance of Will's life far surpassed any loathing he could possibly harbour. Still, he couldn't help but ask, couldn't help but bring attention back to the subject. "Are you going to tell them?"

Will, his eyes drifted towards his parents and softening despite the persistence of his squeezing hand, glanced back towards him. "What? Who?"

Merlin tilted his head in a gesture towards Maree and Jorge. It was a pointless gesture; Will obviously knew whom he'd been referring to. "Your mum and dad. Are you going to tell them who did it? And what happened? And my mum too. She'll pull the truth out of you whether you want to tell anyone or not."

Sighing heavily and closing his eyes briefly, Will nodded. "I know. I know, you're right. I don't want to – I'd rather just make Kanen and his cronies pay for it themselves – but I think I have to tell. I don't know what they'll do, or if they'll even do anything. We're all still technically kids, right?"

Merlin nodded, pursing his lips. His fingers tapped and drummed against Will's in frustration. "It's not fair. They nearly killed you –"

"Nearly?"

"- and they should have to pay for it." Merlin deliberately ignored Will's interruption. "It shouldn't matter they they're kids and supposedly didn't know what they were doing. Adults get punished for that. That's what they call manslaughter, isn't it?"

"Attempted," Will said with a nod. "They didn't actually manage it."

"Only because we were lucky."

"No." Will squeezed his hand tight enough to draw a slightly pained frown from Merlin. "Not lucky. You saving me isn't just luck, Merlin." He paused, and Merlin had to drop his gaze from his friend's for their returned intensity once more. A long moment stretched between them before he finally continued. "What are you doing here anyway, Merlin?"

Sighing in relief as much as the tiredness that rested increasingly heavily upon his shoulders, Merlin fell into explaining the past day's events. Of how he'd received the letter and how he'd managed to get to Ealdor so quickly. That was easy, in the way that sharing stories with Will had always been easy. Far easier than questioning the Darkness of Merlin's Gift, or objecting fruitlessly over the injustice of what would be Kanen's punishment.

He was reaching the end of his retelling when Maree and Jorge began to awaken. In tandem, as though the Sleeping Spell Hunith had cast had worn off all at once, they both drew deep breaths, shifting and frowning and wriggling in their seats as wakefulness dawned upon them.

Maree was the first to open her eyes, and they snapped immediately towards Will. Merlin was forced to release the handhold he'd maintained with his friend, for she lurched forwards and fell upon her son with a heartfelt cry. Jorge was on his feet and assisting in his wife's attempt to smother their son an instant later. Loud sobs and exclamations instantly rung through the room.

Merlin rose to his feet and slipped quietly from Will's bedside. He needn't have tried to silence his footsteps, however, for he doubted that any of the Wood family would have heard him leave. Maree was sobbing between words so garbled that only the sentiment of profound relief could be discerned, and Jorge was muttering a mantra of "Thank God, oh, thank God" that was nearly as unintelligible as his wife's words. It was probably a good thing, because Merlin naturally managed to stub his toe on the timber foot of the bed and nearly trip into the desk chair as he hopped away from the offending bed-end. None of the Woods noticed, and he was able to slip from the room without a word.

He paused on the other side of the door, closing his eyes and leaning against it with a sigh. He hadn't realised how tired he'd been until that moment, emotionally, physically and magically. More than just his worrying, using his Gift, intentionally or unintentionally, always had that effect on him. It was something he'd realised in the few instances that he had used it. Not that he regretted it, regardless of what Will might think. He would take the label of being Dark or evil if it meant he could save his friend.

"Is he alright now?"

With a start, Merlin opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly into the relative darkness of the hallway and then started once more when he realised that it was none other than Arthur Pendragon who had spoken, standing not five feet away from him. He was leaning against the wall casually, but with the slump of someone who had been standing there for a long time and longed for nothing more than a seat to ease himself into.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin blurted out before he could stop himself.

Far from appearing offended, Arthur only shrugged. "I came with you through the Floo just a little behind Morgana. You'd already gone in to see your friend when I arrived."

The memory of the previous day – was it really only yesterday? – arose in the forefront of Merlin's mind. Of finding the letter, of Gwen chasing after him as he ran from Charms and catching him just as he dissolved into tears. Of Morgana somehow appearing at his side and the detached awareness of the fifth year girl scowling fiercely at anyone who attempted to approach them. And then of Arthur, who had similarly appeared out of nowhere and for some reason had offered to help Merlin.

_Why did he do that?_

It took Arthur's reply for Merlin to realise he'd spoken aloud. "Honestly, I don't much know myself." He shifted slightly in place, and Merlin got the distinct impression that, despite the blankness of his expression, he was discomforted by the situation. "Maybe I just didn't want Gwen and Morgana to take off to Merlin knows where. Besides, I was the one that took you all into the headmaster's office. That would make you my responsibility."

Ignoring the invocation of his name like always, Merlin slowly shook his head. At the notion of responsibility, at Arthur's off-handed attitude, at the strange way he always seemed to refer to his father with the formal address of 'headmaster'. None of it really made sense to Merlin because… didn't Arthur not like him? Maybe he didn't _dis_ like him as much as he used to, but that was hardly a reason to offer assistance. Even if Merlin considered and accepted the idea that he'd followed Merlin through the Floo for Gwen's and Morgana's sake – for he knew, distantly, that Arthur and Morgana were somehow related to one another, if not by blood – it didn't explain everything. Like why Arthur had helped him out in the first place.

For truly, if anything, Merlin would have expected him to turn pompously and haughty with offence from Merlin's redirected anger of the day before. He knew he'd been angry with Arthur for simply being Arthur, for being someone he could unleash his terror and upset upon in the form of that anger. Why would Arthur want to help him after that?

Arthur, eyeing him with a sidelong stare, evidently felt that the silence had stretched for long enough. "Your friend. He's alright?"

Glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, Merlin nodded. "He is. Now. It was… it was a close call, but he's fine now."

Arthur released a long, audible sigh, as though he were relieved. Why, Merlin wasn't sure; Arthur didn't know Will, and he'd never gotten much of an impression of sympathy from the Gryffindor boy before. But relief was still evident. "That's good. Your mother said it was some sort of a curse cast upon him?"

Merlin nodded. He felt his hands clench into fists at his side and had to drop his gaze to the floor to hide the briefly resurfacing rage. "Yeah. It was trying to smother his magic."

A grunt from Arthur indicated he knew the severity of such a situation. "And you now who cast it upon him."

It wasn't a question. Merlin slowly raised his gaze to stare at Arthur. The other boy's gaze was intent. "I know who it was."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Just as slowly, Merlin shook his head. There was so much he'd like to do about it, but very little he would actually be able to do. "I don't know."

Arthur stared at him silently for a moment, his stare unreadable. Then he pushed himself off the wall with another sigh. "Well, I'm sure he'll be punished somehow. He seems like a right tosser." Turning from Merlin and heading for the stairs, he muttered something that sounded like, "What is the point of wearing sunglasses at night, anyway?"

Merlin followed behind him and had to frown at his words. Sunglasses? At night? What did he…? Frown deepening, Merlin blinked at his sudden arousal of surprise and suspicion. Had Arthur…? Surely not, would he? "Arthur –"

"Do you think you'll stay here for another day?" Arthur asked abruptly, glancing over his shoulder towards Merlin and pausing as he descended the stairwell. Merlin halted his own step as he made to follow him. "I mean, your mother, she said that she'd Flooed the headmaster and our Heads of Houses, but I personally feel that it would be best if I at least went back to school."

"Why are you still here, even?" Merlin asked, starting his descent once more as Arthur continued his own. "Why did you stay behind? And for that matter, Gwen and Morgana, are they…?"

Arthur shrugged in a repeat of the gesture he'd made before. It was one Merlin hadn't really seen him use that often and seemed to be a product of discomfort. Or awkwardness, perhaps. It was strange; this was an Arthur that Merlin had never seen before. There was a hint of the arrogance, of the entitlement and the swaggering confidence that Merlin was familiar with, but it was just a hint. Those aspects were nearly buried beneath the thoughtfulness, the almost-wariness of his expression. It was decidedly strange.

"I told Gwen and Morgana to go back to school. Gwen kicked up a fuss at first but Morgana convinced her it was important for them to return to the supervision of professors and that they were doing no good here." He paused, half-turning towards Merlin as they made their way into the living room. "I think the fact that I swore a formal oath that should any changes in the situation occur, or should you need their help, that I contact her immediately."

Merlin frowned as he paused in the centre of the living room. Arthur was already reaching for the pot of Floo powder beside the fireplace, turning and lifting it to glance at Merlin. "What?"

"Why are you still here?" Merlin asked, then winced as he heard the faint accusation in his own words. "I mean, I don't understand. Why did you stay behind in the first place? I don't –"

"Well, out of the three of Morgana, Gwen and myself, I'm the least likely to be seriously told off for taking myself off school grounds without permission. Certainly less likely than you are, Merlin." Arthur raised a pointed eyebrow. "With any luck they'll have returned before the headmaster even knew they'd left."

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but paused. Not only because he didn't really know what to say but because, for the first time he could recall – with the exception of the sarcastically mocking words at their first encounter – Arthur had called him by name. For a moment, the string of baffled questions – _yes, but why did you stay behind? Why would you do something like that? And why are you being nice to me? –_ stuttered to a halt.

As he struggled to find his words, and Arthur prodded awkwardly at the potted Floo powder, Hunith stepped quietly into the room behind him. Merlin glanced over his shoulder as she approached and wrapped a brief, one-armed hug around his shoulder, her hand brushing the back of his head. There was so much conveyed in that simple gesture, relief and pride, regret and sadness, questions unspoken in all but her gaze. Merlin shook his head in reply; he was as confused by the situation, by Arthur's presence, by the speed of the change of circumstance with Will's situation, as she evidently was.

"You're leaving?" Hunith asked, her gaze drifting from Merlin to Arthur.

Arthur nodded. "I think it would probably be for the best, Mrs Emrys," he said, his voice taking on that formal tinge that Merlin recognised from hearing him adopt it around professors. "The headmaster will probably want to speak to me about my absence."

"About both of your absences." Hunith nodded in agreement. "Yes, I believe he would." The she glanced sideways to Merlin. "And you, Merlin? You're returning to school as well?"

Merlin didn't answer immediately. Mostly because he knew that what he wanted to do and what he should do were at odds. He didn't want to leave his mother so quickly, after they'd barely exchanged a handful of words face-to-face for the first time since the Christmas holidays. Those they had exchanged had been tight with worry, strained and wavering. He didn't want to leave Will either, the certainty over the success of his survival still teetering into panicked disbelief.

But on the other hand, he wasn't supposed to have left school at all. At least not in the manner that he had. Even if his mother had spoken to Pendragon, it didn't detract from the fact that he'd broken school rules. Not only that, he'd dragged Gwen and Morgana along too.

And Arthur.

Arthur, who so confusingly seemed to have mellowed in his speech towards Merlin, to be almost subdued. Who'd stayed in wait for hours, seemingly without sleep for that entire time. Who had, maybe, possibly… had he been to see Kanen? Merlin wasn't sure as to that last, but didn't know of any other way that Arthur would possibly know something as commonplace yet distinctive as a stupid habit of wearing sunglasses. What did that mean? What had he said to him? Had he even said anything to him or had he just noticed him?

And now Arthur was going to go back to school alone, to face the headmaster – to face his father – and to weather the reprimand and potential punishment that would be rained down upon him. A punishment that was driven entirely by Merlin's actions, despite the fact that he hadn't asked Arthur to accompany him to Will's side. He hadn't even been aware until minutes ago that Arthur had followed him through the Floo.

Leaning his head into his mother's shoulder for a moment, Merlin nodded. "I think I probably should."

Hunith stroked his head once more briefly, humming comfortingly in his ear. "Alright, then. That's probably a good idea."

"Mum, you'll –"

"I'll be sure to write you this evening to let you know how Will is managing. With some luck – perhaps I can have a word to Headmaster Pendragon? – you may be able to visit for the weekend. Or at least make a Floo call."

Merlin nodded once more, closing his eyes briefly. He didn't want to leave, not at all, but his mother's reassurance eased some of the pain of doing so. "Thanks, Mum. Love you."

Hunith only gave him another pat to the head, squeezing his shoulder slightly as she murmured an "I love you too" in reply. Then she released him with deliberate slowness and he crossed the room to the fireplace. The fire itself was little more than a pile of embers, but it flared into flickering and spitting green flames as soon as Arthur threw a handful of powder onto the glowing coals.

Arthur stepped through first, after a respectful nod and a brief word of farewell to Hunith. Merlin paused a step before putting a foot through the fire after him and glanced once more over his shoulder. He bit his lip as he met his mother's eyes. "Thanks, Mum. Thanks for sending me the letter yesterday."

Hunith offered him a small, weary smile. "I believe that if anyone should receive thanks it would be you, Merlin. You did far more than me."

Merlin dropped his chin, a mixture of guilt and embarrassment drawing his gaze downwards. "I'm sorry I used it, Mum."

"Don't apologise. It was necessary. I just –" Hunith cut herself off, pausing, and a concern tightened her features once more. "I just wish that it hadn't been necessary."

Nodding, Merlin lifted his gaze once more. No one but his mother truly understood – not even Will – that Merlin's Gift was dangerous. That people would _hate_ him for it, for nothing but the fact that he possessed the Gift itself. That people wouldn't understand that he used to for Good when he held the capacity to use if for Evil.

Without another word, Merlin turned and stepped through the fireplace.

He nearly tumbled from the Floo into the headmaster's office at the other end, steadying himself with difficulty. Straightened at Arthur's side, he immediately felt assaulted by the thickness of tension in the room. Arthur's back was straight, but more in tightness and rigidity than confidence. For the first time, Merlin actually thought he might be unnerved. Maybe even scared.

When Merlin turned towards Headmaster Pendragon, he thought he knew why. If Arthur radiated tension, the headmaster positively embodied it. Merlin wondered for a moment what it was about the blank expression, the still silence, that made him think Arthur's father was angry.

He didn't know, but he was sure to find out. And from the almost trembling stillness Arthur posed in, he thought he wasn't be the only one cringing at what was to come.


	14. One So Pure

                                                                        

The afternoon was just leaning towards evening when Merlin stepped through the front doors of Hogwarts castle. The cool crispness of spring still necessitated jackets, but it was warm enough to absent a scarf and hat. Merlin could almost revel in the simple act of being outside. Almost.

"I just hope you know, this is entirely your fault."

Sighing, rolling his eyes skyward, Merlin didn't even bother turning towards Arthur who followed behind him. He set a course for Seward's cabin, holding his tongue on the retort that longed to spill forth.

"I've _never_ had detention in my entire schooling life, do you realise? This would be the _first_ time, and it wasn't even my own _fault_."

Merlin didn't reply. He only blinked skyward once more at the ridiculously indignant tone and the emphasis Arthur placed on his words. Over their few interactions he'd come to learn that such emphasis meant Arthur was Not Happy.

"Do you have _any_ idea what it's like for me, to have not only the headmaster but also my _father_ angered by my actions? To be called _reckless_ and _foolish_ for helping you?"

The dual mention of 'headmaster' and 'father' was mildly curious, as though they were two different people, but it did little to distract Merlin from the itching of his tongue.

"If I was really mean enough I could have blamed you, but I didn't. Because I wouldn't. I just hope you realise that I _could_ have but I _didn't_."

God, would he just stop complaining? Merlin doubted he even knew how to.

"And even worse than that is that I have to spend that detention with _you_ –"

"Look, Arthur, I never asked you to come along with me." Merlin turned a frown towards the other boy, barely pausing in step. "I never asked for your help last week with Will, and I certainly never asked you to go behind your dad's back and leave the school. That was all your idea."

Arthur, who walked a deliberate two paces behind him as though attempting to maintain the distance between them, returned the frown with his own expression of disgruntlement. Merlin wondered if he knew how childish he looked when he pouted like that. He shouldn't have let his annoyance at Arthur's whinging take the form of words, but it was just _so annoying._

When they'd returned from Ealdor through the headmaster's fireplace, Pendragon hadn't shouted. He hadn't reprimanded, nor even expressed his disappointment to either of them, as Merlin had seen professors like Iseldir and Smith do. He hadn't really said anything for a long time, and that was actually worse. Merlin had had precious little to do with the headmaster besides the instances before the entirety of the school – even when signing up to start at Hogwarts it had all been his mother's work. He barely knew him, except for the fact that Uther Pendragon was clearly a force to be reckoned with and not one to cross.

Merlin had thought that nothing could dampen the overwhelming relief that had suffused him at knowing Will would be alright. He'd been wrong.

That realisation had made itself known once more with the hard stare that Pendragon had fixed upon Arthur. Not Merlin, not for even a bare second, but Arthur, as though he didn't even noticed Merlin's arrival as he stumbled through the fireplace into the room. Merlin had felt as though he were intruding on something more than a silent staring match between father and son. A staring match that rapidly dissolved when Arthur bowed his head with an expression of greater contrition and sheepishness than Merlin would have thought possible for him to adopt.

When Pendragon had finally spoken, his voice was a deep rumble, deeper than Merlin had ever heard and reminded him faintly of Kilgharrah. The depth felt nothing if not thick with anger. "I am disappointed in you, Arthur. Deeply disappointed."

Arthur had cringed as much as was possible with nothing but a faint tightening of his shoulders and a brief passing of distress across his face. "I am sorry, Headmaster."

"Your actions of the last twenty-four hours were not only presumptuous, childish and irrationally entitled but also foolish." Each word had seemed to hit Arthur like a barb and Merlin had felt an upwelling of defensiveness well within him for the boy beside him. He had barely been able to suppress the urge to frown at Pendragon, stemmed only by a quail of fear that smothered the inclination as the headmaster had narrowed his eyes and seemed to grow taller and broader without moving. "What could have possibly possessed such baselessly irrational behaviour…" He'd trailed off, shaking his head sharply.

Merlin truly hadn't known for what reason he spoke up. Had he any say in the matter, he would have charmed his lips shut and thrown away his wand rather than step into the space of congealed tension that floated between Arthur and his father. But speak he did. And, horrifyingly, with a tone of affront and anger that he hadn't known he would be able to produce. "Arthur was helping me, Headmaster. It was my fault that he left the school. Something happened at home –"

"I am aware of your situation by courtesy of your mother, Mr Emrys," Pendragon had cut him off, neatly incising Merlin's affront and anger along with it. All without blinking or turning his attention from Arthur. "I was not speaking to you, and though I am more than aware of your involvement in the matter, the fault inevitably lies with Arthur." His eyes narrowed further and the very room seemed to warm with the anger he radiated. "It was Arthur who abused the privilege of possessing access to my office and the Floo Network. No amount of persuasion on your part should have swayed him."

Arthur swallowed so loudly that Merlin could hear the faint gulping sound from his side. His eyes were still downcast, and a flush had coloured his cheeks. He looked nothing if not the scolded child that he was, and Merlin felt an upwelling of sympathy arise for him. He'd been at the tail end of his mother's disapproval before, and it had been a thoroughly uncomfortable and regrettable seat to be afforded. Even worse because Hunith only sat him in it when he had done something truly wrong. Most of the time when he knew it, too.

"Once again, I apologise, Headmaster," Arthur said, his voice hard with its formality. "I saw a fellow student in need of the support that only I could provide and I was acted. I was wrong to do so."

"Wrong in several ways, Arthur," Pendragon nodded curtly. "Had the situation been severe enough to warrant leaving the school, Mr Emrys could have awaited my arrival and my disposal."

Arthur nodded jerkily. It looked almost painful for the tightness in his neck. "I realise that now, Headmaster. I can see the error of my ways. I should not have acted without full consideration of the seriousness of my actions."

Merlin had wanted to dispute the formal, stilted words that Arthur spouted, the tone that sounded far too old for his thirteen years. He'd wanted to deny Arthur's supposed 'foolishness' for helping him. Pendragon hadn't been there and Merlin had needed to leave immediately. He couldn't have waited, not upon the Headmaster's 'disposal'. It reawakened Merlin's anger once more.

He hadn't been given the opportunity to speak, however. Instead, Pendragon thundered over any potential reply as though he were reading a death sentence. "You have become aware of your actions at least. I can see that. But, that does not erase the actions themselves. Detention for a month, every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. Professor Seward has offered to take you for his routine trips into the Forbidden Forest if he has nothing else to do with you. And forty points from Gryffindor."

Arthur had visibly flinched but hadn't spoken a word of complaint. The headmaster's gaze had pinned him firmly for a moment before he'd turned towards Merlin. The intensity of his stare was only slightly less merciless. "The same goes for you, Mr Emrys. Thirty points from Slytherin and you will accompany Arthur on his detentions." And without another word, Pendragon had turned towards his desk, lowered himself into his seat and slid a sheaf of parchments towards himself. It was as though Merlin and Arthur had disappeared from his notice entirely.

Merlin had wanted to object. He'd wanted to, would have liked to dispute the headmaster of the excessiveness of his reprimand, not so much to himself but to Arthur. Not only should Arthur have received less punishment than he had – after all, it was for Merlin that he had acted in the first place – but the discrepancy between the points taken from their houses was ridiculous. Merlin didn't place much importance upon house points himself, never seeing much of a point to the victory of one house over the other four at the end of the year, but he knew other students did. Arthur was probably one of those others, if Merlin was to hazard a guess. He seemed the sort of person to show fierce loyalty to his house.

But Arthur hadn't said anything, and after only a moment of pause in which he'd appeared to pull himself together, he'd lifted his chin and strode towards the office door. Merlin had started at his abruptness and paused only for a moment before he'd hastened to follow behind. A glance over his shoulder had showed the headmaster hadn't even acknowledged their departure. Merlin thought it interesting that some of the portraits of the surrounding headmasters were shaking their heads and frowning. One in particular, a younger man with a prominent nose and greasy-looking black hair, actually rolled his eyes before deliberately turning and nearly disappearing into the shadows at the back of his portrait. Merlin had slipped silently from the room so as to avoid disruption of the tense silence any further.

Arthur was nearly a corridor away by the time Merlin had stepped off the slowly revolving staircase and past the griffin gargoyle. Hastening after him, Merlin had restrained himself from touching Arthur's shoulder only at the last minute. "Arthur, I –"

"Don't say anything. Please, just… don't."

Merlin had bitten his tongue. Despite the monotone of Arthur's voice, a sullen melancholy rung like a bell to Merlin's ears. He'd barely seemed to realise Merlin walked alongside him, his eyes trained directly ahead but with a glassiness that bespoke brooding introspection. He had evidently been hit hard by the headmaster's punishment, though Merlin though it was less because of the detention and points as because of the disapproval. Pendragon's regard obviously meant a lot to Arthur, and his disappointment stuck like a blow.

"I'm really sorry, Arthur. You got in trouble because of me." Merlin had kept his voice quiet and low. He'd hoped that the sincerity of his apology was felt even through Arthur's detachedness. No, he hadn't expressly asked for Arthur's help, but help he'd afforded him anyway.

Arthur hadn't replied for so long that Merlin thought he might truly not have heard him. The only sound was the discordant ring of their footsteps on the stone floor. Then, with maturity that Merlin hadn't though him capable of, Arthur had spoken. "It was my decision. My foolishness. I made an error in my actions, and though I cannot change them, I will remember them for the err that they were and learn from them in future." Then, lengthening his stride so that he drew away from Merlin, he finished only with a short, "I'll see you in detention on Saturday, Emrys."

Merlin tried not to feel too put out but the relapse back into using his last name. He didn't manage so well.

Except that now, days later and wandering down towards their first detention, he didn't feel put out at all. He was happy for the distancing even, because Arthur had reverted back to his usual grumbling self. He didn't glare anymore, not as he had done before the Christmas break, but it appeared that whatever objectionable bone to have been knocked out of joint and shown itself as consideration and even sympathy at Merlin's house had been jiggled back into place by the headmaster's scolding. Merlin tried not to be too resentful of the fact, but it was hard when, far from the denials of fault that Arthur had expressed but days before, he was openly blaming Merlin for their situation that evening.

Merlin chose to ignore him stoutly. He'd already failed in that attempt once, but he was maintaining his silence rather well as they continued down the slope towards Seward's cabin. Arthur muttered and grouched the whole way, but even that was fairly easy to ignore when he started repeating his insults and accusations.

One good thing about the situation, Merlin considered, was that Gwen and Morgana appeared to have escaped reprimand. Merlin didn't know how they'd managed it given that he knew Morgana at least had told Pendragon of what had happened in a dexterously roundabout sort of way – typical of Morgana, he supposed – but neither had received a detention or a deduction of house points.

Gwen had attacked him with an embrace when she had seen him later the morning of his return. When she'd finally eased her crushing hold enough for the both of them to breathe and make eye contact, it had been with a glimmer of tears in her eyes and profuse apologies. "Merlin, I'm so sorry I left. It was just that – Arthur and Morgana suggested that it was a good idea and that it would only get everyone into trouble if we all stayed, and I stupidly listened to them and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left and –"

"Gwen," Merlin had struggled to interrupt her jumbled spiel. "You don't have anything to apologise for."

"But I do!" She'd cried, and it was nearly a wail of self-reprimand, a plea for punishment. "I'm your friend. I should have stayed to support you, and I stupidly left because I didn't want to get in trouble for breaking the stupid school rules –"

Her ranting continued in a seemingly endless tirade, cut short only when Lancelot had approached and managed to untangle her from her vine-like hold of Merlin to offer him one instead. He'd pulled away with a sympathetic smile. "Are you alright, Merlin? Is your friend okay?"

Merlin had nodded, smiling in return to Lancelot as Freya and Sefa approached from behind him. "Will's fine. He's okay; it was…" He'd taken a stabilising breath. He'd told himself that he would keep the reality of what had happened a secret and he intended to. "It was a close call, but he managed to pull through. He's alright now."

"Oh, that's such a relief." Gwen had closed her eyes briefly as a hand rose to press her chest above her heart. It could have been seen as a dramatically over-exaggerated performance, except that this was Gwen and Merlin wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest had she experienced heart palpitations from her concern for her friends. She'd opened her eyes and they held only a flicker of remaining concern. "He'll recover alright? No lasting damage, I hope?"

Merlin shook his head. As far as he had been able to tell from the entirety of the curse's absence, not to mention the strength of the bond between magic and core energy that he'd seen, Will would be fine. "No lasting damage."

There had been a communal sigh of relief, even from the usually vague and nonchalant Sefa. It had been an entirely heartening and uplifting experience, to behold the care and consideration of Merlin's friends. He felt himself truly lucky to have them, even more so at the surprisingly vocal objection and the not so surprising distress of Freya and Gwen respectively as they'd heard of his detention and deduction of points. Merlin found that their indignation more than compensated for the punishment itself.

That, and the fact that he would be in the company of Seward, who was the sort of professor that didn't view detentions as detentions as much as an opportunity for students to partake in voluntary manual labour alongside him. The only downside was Arthur, who seemed as though he would likely be complaining and accusing Merlin throughout the entire ordeal.

"… don't know why it couldn't have occurred to you to simply say we should wait for the headmaster. No, you simply had to take Morgana up on her suggestion and use the Floo." Arthur huffed and Merlin could see the pout returning to his face once more. "Really, don't you think for yourself? If Morgana told you to drink a suspicious potion would you just –"

"Pendragon! Emrys! About time, boys."

Arthur's rant was cut short by the appearance of Seward as he stepped out of his cottage. The sturdy, portly young professor's arms and shoulders were weighted down with wooden pales, canvas pouches and several strangely glowing cages that hung suspended from leather straps and clattered against one another as they swung about his waist. He offered a friendly smile to the both of them, the expression nearly lost in the dark scruff of beard that was a product of the late winter. Merlin doubted he'd taken the sharp edge of a razor to the thick fuzz for months given its uneven length.

"Sorry, Professor," Merlin said, pulling up beside him and immediately holding out his hand to offer to take some of his load. "We weren't sure exactly what time we were supposed to come down this afternoon."

Seward turned his smile upon Merlin directly. He seemed to have taken a liking to him after the incident with Lady Helen at the beginning of the year, despite the fact that Merlin achieved no better than average marks in his subject. He always spared a moment to drop a fond or encouraging word.

Handing over a pair of pales, he shook his head. "Not to worry, you're here now. I think we might try and make it a little earlier tomorrow, however. The Forest is dark enough as it is without having to struggle with night as well."

Merlin nodded and, without sparing a glance over his shoulder for Arthur, followed as Seward turned without another word and started towards the tree line. The sound of Arthur's restarted grumbles and subsequent, unnecessarily heavy footsteps indicated he followed closely behind anyway. "What will we actually be doing, Professor?"

Seward glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Didn't the headmaster tell you?" At the shake of Merlin's head, he pulled a faintly surprised expression before turning forwards once more and continued to lead them into the forest. It was along no particular path that Merlin could make out. "It's not anything difficult of strenuous. Friday afternoons I do my rounds to make sure I can't detect anything strange going on–"

"What kind of strange?" Merlin asked.

Seward turned a faintly conspiratorial glance over his shoulder towards him. "The kind of strange that would need me to act upon it. Something like an interspecies quibble – if it's between magical creatures it can get pretty explosive – or if it's the right time of year there might be a congregation when the species go into rut that needs the magic to be siphoned off throughout the forest. If not it gets too concentrated and, again, explosive."

"Right. Avoid the explosions," Merlin nodded. He ignored Arthur's snort from behind him.

"On Saturdays and Sundays, so long as I've finished my rounds on Friday, I go looking for specimens for Mary – for Professor Collins, I mean. And Professor Livingstone. A lot of the ingredients for Herbology and Potions can't be grown in the greenhouses so I have to collect them. That, and I have a couple of home-growns that I manage, species that can't be sprouted except in particularly magically dense soils. And since I'm the one who's basically in charge of the Forbidden Forest, the honour falls to me." He flashed a wink at Merlin as he glanced over his shoulder once more, which Merlin replied to with a smile.

That was the thing about Seward, something that wasn't shared by any of the other professors. Or at least no one but Alice and Gaius, and then only because they were familiar with Merlin on a personal level. Seward hadn't developed the professional distancing from his pupils that the older, more experienced professors seemed to naturally assume. Merlin didn't think it was altogether a bad thing, though at times it did make for rowdy classes.

They walked in broken silence, occasionally commenting to one another as Seward pointed out landmarks or particular trees and species that 'only grow in the Forbidden Forest, as far as the specialists can tell'. Arthur remained silent but for his intermittent grumbling, but Merlin found his relatively easy to ignore. He'd dismissed his useless questionings and considerations about the change of the Gryffindor's attitude – it hardly seemed to matter. Arthur had reverted back to an admittedly more vocal version of his discontented self, apparently having forgotten the brief interlude of sympathy he'd shown Merlin in Ealdor and the even briefer gratitude when he'd sort of thanked Merlin for helping him in the Black Lake with the siren.

Arthur, Merlin decided, was just an objectionable person.

It was after perhaps twenty minutes of walking that Seward slowed in step and held up a hand to pull Merlin and Arthur up beside him. Arthur snorted once more when Merlin nearly face-planted over a root, but Merlin felt justified with his own struggle when Arthur nearly tripped over that same root himself. He stepped up to Seward's side and glanced up at the professor questionably.

Seward spared him another easy smile. "This is where it gets interesting. See this," he gestured before them in an arcing motion and Merlin took a moment to squint before him to make out what he was gesturing to. "This is the border of the Moon Print in the forest."

"Moon Print?" Arthur asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd left Seward's cottage. "I've never heard of that before."

"That's because you're not in fifth year yet and haven't learned about it," Seward clarified.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"This," Seward made the arcing gesture again and this time Merlin thought he could make out a slight line in the ground. Or in the air. It was like a drop off on a reef in which one side was distinctly darker than the other. "This is the Line of Light. It is the boundary between a region of purely Light magical effects and the rest of the forest. Beyond this line, creatures of Light such as unicorns and bowtruckles tend to congregate. Quite often in large numbers and, though it's not a necessarily bad concentration of magic, it needs to be dispersed nonetheless."

"That's so cool…" Merlin whispered. He'd never heard of a Moon Print before, but anything that seemed to attract Light magic was faintly awe-inspiring.

Seward grinned at him. "It certainly is. Very cool. And even better still, absolutely no malicious or even predatory activity can occur within the boundaries. Which means that you two can go for a wander yourselves while I do my collections and checks. See if you might be able to see some unicorns, maybe."

"Is that really a good idea?" Arthur asked, and glancing over his shoulder Merlin saw his eyebrow rise in suspicion and faint concern. "What if we get lost?"

"You won't get lost. So long as you stay in the Moon Print I'll be able to find you," Seward reassured him.

"How big is this Moon Print?"

"Big enough to hold a fair amount of magical creatures," Seward said. "But not big enough to get lost in." He waved his hand towards them both before turning and stepping over the Line of Light and into the faintly paler region of the forest. "Off you go. Go and have a look around. But try and stay within the Line of Light if you don't mind. For safety, you'll understand. Don't want you getting shot down by centaurs or attacked by acromantula." He sounded far too amused at the prospect for Merlin to find altogether reassuring.

Seward disappeared in seconds, seemingly swallowed up by the darkness of the forest. Without his reassuring presence, Merlin became abruptly aware of how very dark and foreboding the forest was. He shivered once, glanced over his shoulder with the certainty that something was approaching him from behind – of course, it was only Arthur, who glanced with sharp concern over his own shoulder an instant later – before hastily stepping over the Line of Light.

The effect was slight but noticeable. A flutter of heat as though he'd passed through a ray of sunlight briefly warmed Merlin and he slowed his step as that warmth passed through him, leaving him feeling slightly lighter in the wake of its passage. Even after the effect had faded, he felt more comfortable for it.

"Well, I'm going to go and see if I can find some unicorns or something," Merlin said, not bothering to look at Arthur over his shoulder. Arthur didn't warrant it, if all he was going to do was pout and grumble about 'unfairness' and lay the blame regardless of how accurate that blame was.

"Do whatever you want," Arthur replied. Merlin nodded as though he'd received permission though he still didn't pause to glance over his shoulder, and strode forwards into the Moon Print.

"Merlin!"

The use of his name pulled him up short in surprise. It was even more surprising because it was Arthur who'd used it. Blinking, he glanced over his shoulder to where Arthur stood a few dozen steps away, gaze deliberately averted to the side as he shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. Merlin strove to keep his face blank. "What?"

Arthur spared him a brief glance as he heaved an exasperated sigh, frowning in a way that Merlin felt was almost more self-deprecating than directed at Merlin himself. "Just… don't go and get yourself killed, alright?"

Merlin's surprise doubled at the awkward statement. Only to fade into amusement and something that felt faintly satisfied a moment later. Merlin struggled to withhold a smile as he nodded. "Sure thing, Arthur. Though if either of us should worry about getting killed it would be you. At least I'm inside the Moon Print."

Ignoring Arthur startled yelp that was almost a squeak, just as he ignored the curses and flurry of insults that followed shortly after, Merlin turned strode once more into the forest. The echoes of Arthur's voice followed him briefly before becoming smothered by the dense air beneath the canopy.

His smile remained, however. A surprised smile, but most definitely drifting towards satisfaction. Maybe Arthur hadn't resorted quite as much to being a prat as Merlin had assumed?

He walked in silence, eyes peeled and peering into the darkness for what could have been hours just as easily as it could have been minutes. His ears strained for the barest hint of breaking twigs, of hoofs pressing indentations into the soft compost of the forest floor. It was eerily quiet, only the distant calls of birds and his own footsteps echoing through the ghost-like trees. Merlin didn't hear anything.

Instead, he saw it.

The creature was unfamiliar to him. That in itself was not surprising, for Merlin hardly considered himself learned in magical creature identification. In truth, he almost missed it for the quietness of its dainty tread, the darkness of its skin and the smooth fluidity of its movements. The shadows of the surrounding forest seemed to draw into the creature rather than pass over and around it, and it was only because _it_ approached _him_ that Merlin noticed it at all.

It looked like a hybrid of a skeletal horse and a featherless bird. Its twig-like legs seemed far too flimsy to support the greyhound-thin body perched atop it. Leathery wings reminiscent of a bat's were folded loosely at its sides, extending beyond the length of its body and shifting in minute twitches. An arching, narrow neck bobbed with every step it took towards Merlin, head swinging slightly as it approached him and pausing only when it was practically on top of him.

It was tall, just as tall as a horse if not quite so broad, and Merlin suspected it likely more than capable of using its hooves to their greatest advantage. He stood frozen, wary, but far from appearing aggressive, the creature butted his shoulder with its hollow snout. It sniffed and edged closer to him as though it relied purely upon scent rather than eyesight. Quite possibly, for the bulging eyes on either side of its head were as opaque as those of a blind man. It snuffled, nudging, poking, and….

And Merlin didn't feel scared. Not in the slightest, even if he was practically frozen in place. The creature was hardly typically beautiful, lacking in the radiance of something like a unicorn, but it possessed its own strange sort of beauty, a strangeness that was fascinating rather than stunning. Before he could help himself, Merlin raised his hand and touched it to the side of the horse-like neck. The hairless skin was cold yet dry, twitching under his touch. It felt almost… it was almost like Merlin's magic. The same feeling. The same unseen colour.

Though he doubted from the tentative gentleness of its approach that the creature was dangerous, Merlin glanced down at his feet nonetheless, just to be sure that he still stood in the Moon Print. He blinked in surprise at seeing that he stood not quite outside of the Line of Light but on the edge. Just as the creature did. Not deterred as though buffered by a wall as Merlin would anticipate that a creature of Darkness might be, but balanced almost perfectly upon the Line itself. Like a tightrope walker, perched along the crossover from Light into darkness.

 _How curious. I wonder if that has some sort of significance_ , Merlin pondered. It likely did – everything magical had some sort of meaning behind its actions. But he couldn't fathom what it was, not without knowing the identity of the creature that was even then leaning its snout against his shoulder, as though to press itself against him. It was odd, the calm and evident comfort of the creature that slouched gently into him with eyelids half closed as though completely relaxed. He wondered what the attraction was, why the creature had approached him at all.

Such wonderings were cut short, however, by a blast of red over Merlin's shoulder. He spun around swiftly, startling the horse creature into a twitching jump before it skittered like a spooked deer and bounded into the trees. Merlin hardly noticed, barely sparing it a glance. The afterimage of the red jet of a spell lingered like smoke in the air, at a distance but not too far from Merlin.

Arthur. It must have been Arthur. Merlin knew it was Arthur, in the same way his sixth sense had alerted him to the fact that it was he who'd been swimming across the lake to the siren months before, identity apparent even across the Hogwarts grounds. Merlin was running in the direction of the fired spell before he realised he was even moving. It was sheer luck that he didn't fall over any obstacles in his path, tripping only once on a jagged rock that barely slowed him.

 _Of course it was Arthur. Why wouldn't he get himself into trouble? In a Moon Print too, where supposedly no aggressive action takes place. Of course he would somehow find an enemy or something_. Merlin didn't know how he knew that – he hardly knew Arthur well enough to make such an assumption – but he did. He was sure of it.

An enemy would have perhaps been better. Less horrifying anyway. For when Merlin finally stumbled upon Arthur, when he beheld the foe he had struck at, there was no other possible feeling that could have filled him.

He skidded to a stop at Arthur's side, turning from the downed unicorn not twenty feet away. He slowly turned wide eyes towards the other boy, mouth already hanging open in horror. "What. The hell. Did you do?"

* * *

 

Arthur didn't mean to shoot the unicorn. It just sort of happened.

The detention with Seward was going well enough. Of course it was, because it was Seward who was taking it. Tyr Seward seemed to view students more as comrades in a learning endeavour that pupils, and had evidently not yet deduced the purpose of detentions.

In anyone else, such disregard would have been revelled over. Yes, he'd had to follow the CMC teacher into the Forbidden Forest and yes, his time could have been better spent studying, or with friends, or enjoying himself on the quidditch pitch, but that was the only concern. It wasn't a bad detention. Far from it. Even interesting, if he actually managed to see any of the magical creatures the Forbidden Forest harboured.

Or so it would have been to anyone but Arthur. For Arthur knew what his father had assigned such a detention to him. It wasn't adequate punishment for the foolishness that he'd walked himself into, so Arthur was left with the greater portion of reprimand himself.

And reprimand he did. Arthur had been thoroughly entrenched in his thoughts for days now, had felt nothing but mounting guilt and the hard hand of self-directed scolding over that time. Why had he acted out against his father? He was _never_ supposed to act against his father's rules, against his wishes, never question that which was demanded of him. It was the pureblood way, to assume a position of submission to the elders of his family and cool, distant respect to any unrelated elders, until he reached maturity.

Uther had always said that he put Arthur's safety above everything else. His education followed closely behind in terms of priority, with enjoyment drifting somewhere lower down the scale of importance a little below adhering to correct protocol and etiquette and developing a favourable public impression. That was simply the way it was, as it was in every pureblood household.

Arthur had subverted several of the expectations his father had outlined for him. He'd left the safety of the school, had abandoned his classes, had acted rashly and pretentiously with a sense of entitlement and upon impulse. Had anyone known, had anyone seen or heard that Arthur Pendragon had taken a spontaneous trip to Ealdor and thence proceeded to thoroughly intimidate a boy two years his senior to the point of debilitating quailing, he would have never heard the end of it. Arthur could be grateful for that at least. Uther's disapproval would have intensified tenfold if he'd discovered that the Wizarding world at large knew of his exploits.

Yes, Arthur had revisited the error of his ways. Multiple times, in fact, and from multiple angles. Uther hardly needed to remind him for his foolishness for he'd done so himself enough times. He was _always_ supposed to do as his father told him, as his headmaster told him, and even knowing as he did that some pureblood perspectives – the inferiority of half-bloods and Muggleborns, for one – was skewed, that didn't mean that he would shirk the rest.

In many ways, Arthur would have preferred Uther to punish him. The words his father had given him, while harder to hear, couldn't possibly be any worse than those he yelled at himself.

Leon had tried to draw him from his slump with gentle coaxing, telling him that it wasn't his fault that his father was angry at him – even if it was – and that he'd done the right thing – which Arthur knew, but wasn't comforted by. He knew that it had been the right thing to go to Ealdor, at least in some respects, but in others he had certainly been flawed. That was the difficulty of the situation: Arthur was torn between what he knew he should have done and the justification of what he had done.

Elyan was a quiet, murmuring support, Percival an expression of thoughtful concern, while Morgana had taken to openly berating Arthur for dwelling upon Uther's "impractical restrictions that no one could be expected to adhere to without objection". Gwen, who had been spending minimal time with him of late because of her abruptly expanded collection of tag-along puppies, had offered no consolation, no justifications. She'd only thanked him for what he'd done, and in many ways Arthur felt that helped him more than the support of any of his other friends.

And then there was Merlin. Not Emrys, but Merlin, regardless of how he still struggled to call him such. Arthur doubted he could think of the Slytherin boy as anything but his first name after what he'd witnessed, what he'd come to understand, in Ealdor. Even if it wasn't Merlin himself that had revealed such personal aspects of his past and the life he'd lived before attending Hogwarts.

The thought still made Arthur angry, even with Uther's disappointment hanging over his head.

Unfortunately, that anger, the strange defensiveness that had urged him to seek out the stuck up idiot Kanen who still set Arthur's teeth on edge, didn't seem capable of quelling the miniscule blame that he directed towards Merlin. It was unfair – Arthur knew that; he knew that Merlin hadn't expressly _asked_ for his help, and that Arthur was truly the one to blame for the fix he'd gotten himself into – but that didn't stop that niggling blame from growing and expanding. It manifesting itself into scathing, jabbing remarks as Arthur followed a deliberate two paces behind Merlin on their way down to their detention and then into the Forbidden Forest. It actually made it even harder to withhold those remarks when Merlin so deliberately ignored him.

Arthur would never know what had possessed him to call out to Merlin as he strode into the Moon Print, urging him to be careful. It didn't help that some of his swollen blame had dampened slightly when he'd caught sight of that faint smile that the other boy didn't quite manage to hide. Even if most of it did return when Merlin had suggested that _Arthur_ would be the more likely of them to wind up dead. He did hasten into the safety of the Moon Print, however, grumbling in protest the entire time.

The subsequent minutes of aimless wandering had been in deep thought, Arthur contemplating as he'd been indirectly told to by his father the actions that had led up to his winding up in detention. It was likely because it that distraction that he hadn't heard the distant approach of the creature before he caught a glimpse of it. And when he did see it, he acted on instinct. He _was_ in the forest, after all, and the forest was dangerous. The reality of the Moon Print didn't factor into the equation in that moment.

Arthur lifted his wand and fired before he'd fully turned. There was a brief moment of resistance, as though the spell didn't want to be loosed, before it launched itself forwards to his cry of _"Stupefy!"_.

The unicorn wasn't quite flung off its feet but it was a near thing. It stumbled backwards, cast a vibrant red by the spell momentarily before it bodily tripped, tumbled and fell to the ground. Arthur flinched – no, he jerked in horror – at the crack that wrought the air. It didn't sound like the breaking of a twig.

_Oh shit._

He didn't approach the unicorn. He couldn't bring himself to move even a step towards it. The figure of glowing silver-gold was just discernible as a horse at the distance of twenty meters and hidden by underbrush and trees, and Arthur couldn't draw his eyes from it. It didn't move, not even to twitch. He couldn't shake his gaze from what looked to be a sickeningly unnatural twist to the creature's neck. Arthur was rendered horrified, stilled in place, and didn't think he even blinked. The shiver of a flush ran in a tell tale ripple across his skin, his magic welling within him in worried response to his mounting distress.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…_

Merlin was at his side before Arthur even heard him approach, which was saying something because Arthur had been taught by his father to be alert and watchful of everything around him. He turned slowly towards him, eyes feeling as widely blown as Merlin's looked.

The other boy stared for a bare second. When he spoke his voice was slightly choked. "What. The hell. Did you do?"

Arthur swallowed the dryness from his mouth, though he knew he couldn't answer. He slowly turned back towards the unicorn as an upwelling of bile rose in his gorge.

Unicorns were pure. Sacred, even, the embodiment of innocence. To kill a unicorn was tantamount to the ultimate sin, and Arthur wasn't sure but he doubted the excuse of "It was an accident" would satisfy whatever gods sat judgment upon such acts. _No one_ killed a unicorn. Even the illegal poachers only pinned them down and sawed off their horns for their magical properties – that too was considered something of the epitome of cruelty and malice in the Wizarding world, but still they didn't actually _kill_ the unicorns.

It was only because Merlin appeared in the line of his sights, hastening to the unicorn's side and dropping to his knees beside it, that Arthur was even aware that he'd moved. As though shaken from his stupor, Arthur followed slowly, apprehensively, behind him. _Please don't be dead, please don't be dead,_ he chanted in his head, even though he was about ninety-nine per cent sure that the twist to the creatures neck had killed it.

Merlin had his hands on the unicorn from what Arthur could see, his back rigid and straight, head tilted down over the top of the beast that was at least twice his size with eyes closed. He seemed almost in a position of prayer, and Arthur had a passing thought of wonder – did people in Ealdor have some sort of religious proceeds for slaughtered magical creatures? He wouldn't have been surprised. Home-schooled people tended to be a little odd.

When he finally stopped at Merlin's side, it was as though he'd walked into a cold-room. The very air seemed to have become chilled, freezing as though the heat, the vibrancy, the life had been drawn from the very air. Struggling with the urge to both restrain the prickling contrasting heat of his magic that drew a shiver of goosebumps across his skin and to withhold the urge to upend the contents of his stomach onto the ground before him, Arthur slowly lowered his reluctant attention towards the creature. The dead unicorn, it was dead, its neck was broken, it –

It moved.

Just a twitch, but it definitely moved. And then it moved again. The smooth, glowing pelt shivered beneath Merlin's hands, and the graceful arch of its neck curtained by a golden mane unfurled from its awkward twist. A heavy breath almost like a resounding sigh was audibly released and then its legs moved and it trembled more distinctly, and –

"He's alive," Merlin whispered with a sigh of his own, withdrawing his hands from the creature's flanks and falling back onto his haunches. It was a sigh that Arthur mimicked with double the relief and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

"I was sure he was dead. Thank Merlin, I was _sure_ I'd killed it." Arthur squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, fighting against the cascading relief and the wobbliness that it entailed, the backlash from the horror that had been mounting within him. "Its neck, I was sure I saw its neck broken –"

"Well, he's not. He's not dead." Merlin turned towards him, face open in reassurance for a moment, and met Arthur's eyes. For an instant, Arthur could swear they swirled with a dying gold but was distracted as Merlin gave a worried frown. "Two of his legs are, though, and probably a rib or two from what I can make out. What the hell did you even shoot him with?"

Disregarding for the moment how Merlin could possibly have know the medical status of a horse, Arthur frowned in affront. His natural defensiveness for his actions, the defensiveness that arose even at times even when his father scolded him, reared its indignant head. "It was an _accident_. I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye and thought it was something else."

"So you tried to kill it?"

"No! I just cast a _Stupefy_. That was all."

Merlin opened his mouth before closing it a moment later, pausing to blink with a frown of confusion. "How did you even cast a _Stupefy?_ Aren't any sort of attacks supposed to be banned from Moon Prints or whatever? Wasn't that what Seward said?"

Arthur shrugged tightly. He suspected that the 'forbiddance' upon attack had taken the form of the brief resistance that he'd ploughed through. "I don't know. Maybe exceptionally strong wizards and witches are exempt from it." Arthur knew he was magically strong, one of the strongest his lineage had seen for centuries. It was fact, not arrogance that had him admitting such.

"Oh, get off your bloody high horse," Merlin muttered, deliberately turning away from Arthur and back to the horse. "Your oh-so-strong magic nearly killed a unicorn."

"But it didn't," Arthur pointed out objectionably, though the reminder flooded him with renewed relief. Thank Merlin it didn't _._ He'd been sure that the creature's neck was broken. He may as well have broken his own for having to face the headmaster after such an incident.

"Only because you were lucky!" Merlin scowled down at the horse, though Arthur got the very distinct impression that it was meant for him. Then he swept his hand in an unfamiliar gesture over the unicorn's puffing ribcage and muttered, _"Stabilis"_ over one of the unicorn's legs " _Ferula_ " an second later. Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise as a coil of bandages sprung into existence and Merlin set to strapping the creature's leg. He glanced upwards towards Arthur as he worked. "I don't know how you managed to break so many of the unicorn's bones with just a _Stupefy_. Did you actually mean to do that?"

"Of course I didn't," Arthur grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. His knees to wobbled slightly but he ignored the inclination to fold himself to sitting. "I told you it was an accident." Then, because he couldn't stop himself from watching as Merlin conjured another bandage, mumbled _"Stabilis_ " once more and set about strapped another leg, he said, "Do you even know what you're doing?"

Merlin turned a derogatory glance towards him. "I do, actually. Is that so surprising? My mum's a Healer, in case you didn't realise."

"Yes, but not an animal Healer."

"I think the term you're looking for it veterinarian."

"Shut up, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said. It was getting easier to speak, to appear composed when the debilitating fear of _so help me, I've killed a unicorn, dear God_ had begun to fade. His eyes still flickered from the horse to Merlin, barely appreciating the beauty of the former or registering the startling efficiency of the latter. He was too focused upon his profound sense of relief.

A call from behind them finally drew his attention from where Merlin was feeling gently along the horse's ribs, prodding softly as though attempting to feel something. The unicorn appeared to have awoken though was in something of a daze, a state that Arthur thought Merlin probably induced when he placed a hand over its eye and murmured " _Tranquillumum"._ He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Seward hastening towards them at a near run. His pouches and buckets jostled together, the cages jangling against one another with every step. Some were filled with what looked to be flower specimens, roots and all.

"What happened, boys? Are you alright? I saw the spell fire and thought –" Seward stuttered to a halt as his feet slowed and his attention turned upon the felled unicorn. "Dear Merlin, what happened?"

It took a moment for Arthur to realise that Seward wasn't asking the question specifically of Merlin himself – _God, that must be so annoying_ – but by the time he opened his mouth to speak Merlin was already answering.

"An accident."

"I should hope so," Seward said, falling onto his knees beside Merlin with a clatter of cages and the thump of dropped pales. "What kind of an accident? Is he alright? What –?" He paused, and Arthur saw his eyebrows lift. "Did you do this, Emrys?"

Merlin shrugged as Seward gestured towards the bandages. "I don't know how much good they'll be. I stabilised the breaks before binding them, and I've calmed him down but didn't really know what else to do."

Seward stared at him for a moment longer in blank surprise before appearing to shake himself out of his thoughts. "Quite alright, that's quite alright. You've done a good job as far I can see." He leant forwards and ran his hands over the unicorn's flank in much the same way that Arthur had watched Merlin do. "Let's see what we have here..."

Merlin fell back onto his haunches once more, evidently satisfied and visibly relieved to hand the situation over to the professor. He glanced up at Arthur, and Arthur returned the strange expression and head tilting gesture with a confused frown. What was he attempting to communicate something non-verbally? Hopefully not that he was having a fit of some kind.

Seward's mumbling drew his attention back to the unicorn, however. "There, see, it's not quite so bad. Breaks, yes, and they'll take some time to heal up properly, but nothing too serious. A couple of fractured ribs, some mild grazing and… mostly just distress, I'd say. He's probably gone into shock."

"Will he be alright?" Merlin asked. Arthur didn't quite roll his eyes, even if he felt the inclination to. Now that he knew the unicorn wasn't dead – and likely wasn't going to die any time soon, at least not at his own hand – he had little care for the creature. Pure, innocent, embodiments of Light that they were, Arthur didn't have much of a taste of magical creatures in general. They simply didn't interest him. At least, that was the conclusion he'd reached after nearly a year of CMC. Instead, he folded his arms, attempting to express a casualness he didn't feel, and leant deliberately upon the nearest tree.

"I'd say that after maybe a week or two of accelerated healing he'll fix up nicely," Seward nodded, apparently satisfied. "We'll probably have to take him with us to care for, though. Just to keep an eye on him."

"That's good," Merlin said. Redundantly, in Arthur's opinion, but he didn't say as much. "I was a bit worried that so many of his bones seemed to have been broken so easily. I thought maybe something was wrong with him."

"No, no, nothing wrong, exactly, nothing wrong." Seward assumed a faintly lecturing tone. "He's just a young one, is all. You can tell, see, he's got a faint sheen of gold still in his pelt and most of his mane. He hasn't fully matured yet."

"What does that mean? Why does that matter?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. Not because he was curious, exactly, but…

Seward glanced at him approvingly, as though welcoming his interest. He seemed to have entirely recovered from his brief bought of concern over the prone beast and took the opportunity to teach Arthur and Merlin both of the finer points of unicorn lore. "Only that the younger they are the more brittle their bones. It's a common feature of unknown amongst Wizarding zoologists; the youngsters are incredibly fragile." Seward gently patted the unicorn's flank. "This boy here, I'd say he's less than a year old. Still a little brittle."

"That seems a little bit counterproductive," Merlin muttered. "Having the babies so fragile and all that."

"Which is precisely one of the reasons why I take my rounds," Seward beamed at Merlin as though he'd made some profound connection. "Got to keep an eye out for them. No one and nothing actively attacks a unicorn, but the foals still manage to injure themselves on the odd occasion."

Ignoring Merlin's deliberate glance towards him Arthur didn't need to be a mind-reader to know the meaning behind, Arthur straightened himself and stepped a pace forwards as Seward rose to his feet. Extracting his wand from a pocket, the young professor cast a wordless Levitation Charm and the faintly glowing horse rose in the air in a startling resemblance to a helium-filled balloon. Arthur had to wonder at Merlin's spell that had evidently calmed it for the fact that it barely twitched as it rose.

"Alright, I think we might leave it at that this afternoon," Seward said, nodding his head as though decisively reaching a conclusion. "We'll head on back to school and get this little fellow settled, shall we? See if we can't get some Murlap Essence into him and heal him up some." Then he set off at a brisk pace in what Arthur could only assume was the direction of Hogwarts. He fell unconsciously into step beside Merlin as they followed, eyes trained on the preceding figure of Seward who dragged the floating unicorn behind him like a child with a kite.

"You're so lucky he didn't ask questions," Merlin muttered lowly at his side.

Arthur snorted, even if he did privately agree. "Seward's hardly the sort of person to think that someone would attack a unicorn. You heard what he said."

"Yeah, who would do something like that?" Merlin replied, giving Arthur another pointed raising of his eyebrows.

Before Arthur could reply with his abrupt rise of indignation, Seward called to them over his shoulder. "Keep up, boys! I don't fancy trying to find you if you get lost. It's hard enough finding your way when there's a bit of sun still up." He paused in step for a moment, tilting his head as though thinking, before continuing with a smile over his shoulder. "Ah! I've an idea. What if I left this lad in your care until he gets better? I'll talk to the headmaster, see if you can compress your detentions into the next few weeks so you'll just have come down for an hour or two every afternoon to look after him. That should help the unicorn out in its recovery, too; the selfless and altruistic act of caring for the injured goes a long way for such creatures."

Seward glanced over his shoulder with a smile that indicated he didn't perceive for a second Arthur's pleading for anything but. "It would be a great experience for you boys. Not every day you get to tend a unicorn in third year." Then he turned and nearly bounced in his continuation through the forest. The unicorn bobbed limply overhead with every step.

Arthur gave a muted groan. "Really? We _have_ to?" He was already rearranging in his head his hours for homework and quidditch practice that would be compromised by the compression of detentions.

"Don't whinge, Arthur," Merlin said, and with surprising familiarity that left Arthur startled more than affronted, he nudged an elbow in his side. "At least the unicorn's not dead, right? Look on the positives."

"That's easy for you to say. You actually seem to like CMC."

"I don't actually. Not all that much, anyway." Merlin shrugged. "Personally, I prefer Charms. Or Potions, maybe. But anyway, it doesn't matter. Be positive. Besides, if anyone should be complaining it's me."

"You?" Arthur turned a hooded glance towards him. "It's _your_ fault that we're –"

"In detention, yes, so I've heard. But it is not my fault that we've been roped into looking after a unicorn." Merlin nudged him once more, and this time Arthur's surprise was quelled enough that he could afford him a frown. "That was entirely your fault."

Arthur opened his mouth to object, but before he could Merlin lengthened his stride and nearly trotted to fall into step beside Seward. He immediately began a conversation of questions and answers about how they were supposed to care for the unicorn.

Arthur listened with half an ear. He supposed it was inevitable that it was going to happen, what with the enthusiasm of Seward's resolution. Shaking his head, he struggled not to look at the unicorn for the entire walk back to the school.

_At least it's not dead. Just keep remembering that. At least it's not dead._


	15. The Forging of Excalibur

                                                                       

Detention far from what Merlin had considered it would be. He'd anticipated bad, annoying, tedious and tiresome. A little like the chores that his mother set him, or the additional chores she loaded upon him when he was being objectionable or made an idiot of himself and needed the sense knocked into him by menial labour.

Hogwarts apparently didn't promote the scrubbing of floors, the dusting of shelves or the rearrangement of books in alphabetical order – or more frequently the variable ordering that Hunith had suddenly had the idea to resort them into that made little to no sense to Merlin. Or maybe Merlin had just struck lucky with being assigned to Seward for his detentions.

Making his way down to the little cottage for the seventh time, Merlin actually felt he could almost enjoy the detention. It far surpassed closeting himself in the library with his textbooks and struggling to hash out a draft of his History essay. Even with Morgana's tutelage he was only just competent in his attempts. It soothed him, eased any of the tensions of study. It made him happy.

Well, it was a contributor to his happiness. Merlin's mood had brightened significantly since the weekend when he'd been given permission to visit home and check up on Will. Will had recovered remarkably, and if he still looked thin then at least he didn't appear quite so skeletal, nor his skin quite as sallow. The exhaustion seemed to have lessened some, and even if Hunith still kept him in Merlin's bed on 'Healer-assigned bed rest', he seemed well on his way to recovery. He was even smiling, laughing and happy when Merlin spent the entirety of Saturday morning at his bedside.

There was nothing that could quite shake the good humour that arose from that, not even the uncertainty over what was going to happen with Kanen. Merlin doubted that even had he been ordered to dust every shelf in the library he would have been fully shaken from him positive mood. Nothing could quite wipe the smile from his face for long.

Rounding Seward's cottage, Merlin made his way into the creature coops beyond. They were an extensive structure, taller than Collins' greenhouses and more of a labyrinth of interconnected buildings than a single building itself. Winding his way through barns of squawking and chirruping animals, he bypassed aviaries of exotic magical birds and was chased by the chitters of mouse-like rodents as they clamoured at the edges of their enclosure with his passing. The stables, as he'd come to recognise them as being, were silent by comparison. Merlin slipped through the unlocked door, the noise of Seward's creatures abruptly muting as it clicked shut behind him.

It was warm inside. Most of the coops were warm, but Seward seemed to think that the stables, with the colt unicorn nestled within, would need to be warmer to 'promote his comfort and recovery'. Merlin couldn't find it within himself to complain. His mother always said that comfort and rest were often as much of a Healer's Draught as any potion or corrective charm. She had the evidence to prove it too, what with her general reluctance to use significant magic these days.

The stables were far too extensive for a single resident. Five stalls too many, in fact, and each outfitted with rich, dry hay, troughs of water charmed to remain cool and clean, and the smell of something grainy that could have been oats as easily as it could have been baking bread. The candle-less lights swinging before every stall lit Merlin's way as he wandered down towards the unicorn's stall.

"Hey," he said, rising on his toes to better peer over the door of the stall and into the hay-stuffed quarters beyond. "How are you feeling today?"

The unicorn immediately pricked his ears at Merlin's appearance. Turning towards him from where he reclined upon the bed of hay, he nickered a greeting of his own. The shuffle of limbs, the flutter of his tails, suggested that he would have risen to his feet if he could have. He couldn't. Not yet, but Merlin considered it wouldn't be long now.

Merlin smiled at him, unlatching the stall and slipping inside. For whatever reason, the unicorn seemed to have taken a liking to him. He didn't know why – Merlin was hardly learned at caring for animals – but considered that perhaps it was some unconscious sense of the horse's that told him that it was Merlin who had initially tried to heal him. He certainly seemed to hold the opposite regard for Arthur, seeming to glare accusingly at the Gryffindor boy whenever he was in sight.

Seward's directions were simple enough. Muck out the stall. Replace the hay. Ensure the water trough was clean and filled and feed the cubic ambrosia to the unicorn, rolled in crystallised Break-Ease to speed along the healing of the horse's bones. Merlin seriously doubted it was actually ambrosia - what did one even make ambrosia from? - but when he'd asked Seward what the silvery biscuit-like substance was the professor had only winked at him and raised a secretive finger to his lips.

Then, they would groom the unicorn.

Merlin didn't know exactly why they had to groom him. Not only did it seem strange to increase the direct interaction with a wild animal more than was absolutely necessary - weren't they supposed to keep their distance? Or was that only with dangerous creatures? - but because the unicorn hardly seemed to need it at all. The glow of his pelt had dimmed none for the time he'd spent in their care, his matte-silver hooves shining like polished steel, and the liquid lengths of his mane and tail seemingly incapable of knotting. Merlin suspected there was some sort of magic involved to make them appear so utterly perfect, but he didn't know what. He was hardly complaining, though. The unicorn was a wonder to behold; it was awe-inspiring to even be within his presence. There was something about that, Seward had said, some sort of magical 'charisma' or something of magical creatures that drew other sources of magic to them. Merlin didn't care what the technical term for it was. It hardly mattered.

Crouching down at his side, Merlin extended a hand to stroke at the unicorn's brow. He'd noticed that he seemed particularly partial to being stroked and scratched around the base of the coiling length of his horn, and Merlin obliged him whenever he had the opportunity. There was something so satisfying about seeing the unicorn bow his head slightly to lean into Merlin's fingers, eyelids slipping half-closed in contentedness and the faint nickers that sounded like murmurs of approval that he uttered throughout.

Murmurs that he was already mumbling as Merlin raised his hand and began his usual caress. "Yes, I know how much you like it, Gedref," he said with a smile.

"I still think that's a stupid name. I mean, honestly, what kind of a name is 'Gedref' for a horse?"

Glancing over his shoulder at the sound of Arthur's voice, Merlin frowned at what had become their usual for the beginnings of their communication. "I've already told you why I've called him that. And he seems to like it." Gedref's nicker from behind him sounded to Merlin's ears like an affirmative.

"Yes, I know," Arthur nodded, leaning against the doorway of the stall. He was dressed in a casual and slightly worn pair of robes, as he had been every afternoon for the past week after the first day in which he'd dirtied his school robes from the mess in the stall. Much to his disgruntlement and to Merlin's barely muffled amusement. _Merlin_ didn't wear his school robes, opting for some old Muggle trousers and a t-shirt instead; Hunith had always been one to approve of the practicality of Muggle outfits. He pretended he didn't see Arthur's envious glances throughout the rest of that first afternoon, but couldn't deny that he was slightly smug for them. Just as he had to as Arthur continued. "But knowing he's named after a country just makes it sound even more ridiculous."

"It's not a country," Merlin corrected, as he had on multiple occasions. "Seward said it was only a region of sorts down near Wales, if it existed at all. The birthplace of all unicorns, he said." Merlin turned his attention back to scratching Gedref's brow. "Maybe having him named after his legendary birthplace will help revive the legend."

"I'm sure," Arthur replied with his usual snort. "Every time someone asks him in future 'oh, what an unusual name you have, Gedref', he can bore them with the story of his origins."

Merlin ignored his words for the off-handed comment that he knew they were. Because they were off-handed. That was what Merlin had come to understand, one of many things he'd learned of Arthur in the past week of their mutual detention. Arthur consistently liked to pretend that he wasn't interested, that he didn't care, that it didn't bother him that Gedref liked Merlin but seemingly disliked Arthur. He frequently questioned Merlin's intelligence, called him an idiot more than he did his name, and muttered throughout their entire cleaning process something to the effect of "This could be done so much faster with magic".

Yet it was the easily overlooked parts of his attitude that Merlin found interesting. Parts that he found quite enjoyable to watch or witness if not so much to interact with. Like how he did indeed call Merlin an idiot at times, but when he said his name it was his first name rather than his last. Like that regardless of how much he moaned and groaned in dispute of the physical labour of their detention, he always did an immaculate job. Or that, quite without needing to, he would always remain at the stables in Seward's coops until Merlin left, even when Merlin accidentally lost track of the time in an unconscious attempt at procrastination from homework and spent it talking to Gedref, or to Seward if he was about, or simply stroking the unicorn on his brow.

And sometimes, increasingly over the past week and the hours they'd spent together, Arthur had actually begun to talk to Merlin. Mostly in snide remarks at first, riddled with unnecessary comments pertaining to his Slytherin sorting that rapidly weaned into silence when he apparently noticed that Merlin would do his utmost to ignore him for long periods after he'd voiced such remarks. Merlin, always one to speak into unnecessary silences, had found it quite amusing to hold his tongue for once and let Arthur stew in the echo of his words, listening to just how childish they truly sounded.

They'd actually started talking properly on their third day. Arthur had asked, with a frown that might have appeared accusatory but Merlin for some reason saw as being merely curious, why Merlin was in such a damnably good mood.

Merlin had shrugged. "I got a letter from my friend this morning. That's all." It wasn't all. He didn't just get a letter. It was the first letter that Will had sent himself, the few days absent of written correspondence the longest they had gone without writing to one another while Merlin was attending Hogwarts. He plucked idly at Gedref's mane weaving it into a poor attempt of a braid instead of brushing his flanks with the currying comb as he was supposed to.

"You mean the friend that you went and saw last week?" Arthur had asked. "The one who was cursed?"

Merlin had glanced over his shoulder in surprise. Arthur had no longer sounded accusing-but-actually-curious. He hadn't sound like he was pretending to be accusing at all. He too had paused in the act of scrubbing clean the hoof pick that Merlin had used moments before - because Gedref didn't even allow Arthur to touch his hooves - and was staring at him with intense, unblinking curiosity. Merlin had to turn back to Gedref's mane to escape the weight of his stare. "Yeah. His name's Will."

"He's alright?"

Merlin had shrugged to give himself time to recover from his surprise. This side of Arthur was more reminiscent of that he'd seen back in Ealdor days before rather than the objectionable, accusing boy who seemed more partial to scowling than smiling. "Still not great, but he's getting better. Mum - my mum, whose healing him – she said he could get out of bed for the first time today, so he was pretty excited about that."

From the corner of his eye, Merlin had seen Arthur nod slowly, accepting his explanation, before turning back to the pick.

After that, it felt as though the ice had broken. Merlin truly had no intention of becoming a friend to Arthur; he hardly felt inclined to assume such a role, especially after their somewhat rocky past. That didn't mean that he'd refrain from talking to him, however. He chatted about every inane subject that passed through the forefront of his mind much as he found himself want to do when in the company of just about everyone. Anything from the weather, to Gedref's healing, to Alator's mood swings or Debois' ridiculous amount of homework that only seemed to increase with the progression of the year. He spoke about Gwen, and Lancelot, about Freya and her unexpected, budding friendship with Sefa, and - rather pointedly, he would admit - about how he thought it was kind of cool that they had all become such friends despite being from different houses.

Most of it was purely observational - sometimes literally observational when it came to Gedref - and similarly most utterly superficial. The difference was that, after several days of listening, of muttering cutting remarks that Merlin ignored and commenting on how ridiculously un-Slytherin Merlin always acted, Arthur had started talking back. Just little things, like "Hopefully the sun will last until the weekend for the quidditch match" or "Gwen's always been like that. She doesn't seem to understand that other people don't care quite as much for incompetent first years as she does".

It was noticeable to Merlin, however, and he gradually began to paint a picture of Arthur outside of the unfavourable portrait that had conjured itself from their confrontations in the past. Merlin wasn't one to hold a grudge or simmer heatedly over such pettiness, for if he were he never would have survived Kanen's treatment for as long as he had. Though he didn't forget the things Arthur had said and done, they were simply part of a growing list of what he'd come to know of him. And it wasn't all unfavourable.

Arthur was still a prat. That much was obvious. He possessed a natural arrogance, an air of entitlement, that had at first glance reminded Merlin of Kanen but upon closer study exposed it as being more of a shallow skin laid atop the depth beneath. He was opinionated and didn't keep his opinions private, felt justified in those opinions, and became disgruntled when someone casually refuted his claims and declared their tendency towards an opposing perspective. He was pureblooded, which spoke for itself in many ways as far as Merlin was concerned, and generally seemed to pride himself on that purity. And yet in spite of that, he didn't appear to consider himself superior to specific others like Gwen and Elyan, who's Muggleborn father Merlin knew would have cast them out of many pureblood's consideration. That in itself was surprising; he'd picked up in his time at Hogwarts that purebloods seemed to hold disdain for Muggle affinity.

And underneath all of that, Merlin was coming to realise that Arthur - a little surprisingly – did indeed carry some depth to him. He had a fierce loyalty and affection for his friends, apparent even from the exasperated words he spoke of them. He was studious despite his natural inclination towards the practical more than the theoretical, to acting rather than sitting and waiting. He was impatient, but struggled to manage that impatience with composure, and when he was in a steady, rational frame of mind - that was, when he wasn't poking Merlin with comments about the inferiority of his Slytherin nature or the incompetencies of a home-schooler - he actually seemed quite intelligent. Fair, even. Merlin was surprised the one instance he'd voiced his recognition of Debois' bias. It was spoken in passing, an off-handed comment that they had so often begun to exchanged.

"Debois makes no attempts to hide his favouritism of Gryffindor. More than just as Head of House, I mean. He's always been like that, for as long as I've known him. It's actually a little bit embarrassing sometimes. I know that a lot of people would just take advantage of the fact that he always awards more points to Gryffindor, or that he never tells us off or punishes as severely as he does students of other houses. But personally, I'd prefer to make my way without handicapping my competitors. It would hardly feel like winning if everybody else was held back."

He'd been leaning casually on the vertical length of the rake when he'd spoken, chin propped atop the handle and eyes narrowed slightly as he stared off at some distant context that he evidently found objectionable. When he'd finished speaking, he paused, lost in thought for a moment before shaking himself from his pondering. A moment later he tossed Merlin a slightly sheepish glance that just barely coloured his cheeks pink and set back to work.

That brief exchange had been one of several sort of turning points.

Merlin didn't forget their past volatility. He didn't think he could. But he only held grudges when he was confronted with someone who truly deserved it, when they'd done something unforgiveable and didn't warrant forgiveness. Like Kanen – now more than ever before.

Though Merlin knew their communication was most likely a product of circumstance, driven by boredom, and that he couldn't and didn't expect Arthur to speak to him outside of their detentions, Arthur wasn't the sort of person to revert back to his supposed dislike or disregard. He didn't really speak to Merlin in class, but there was the odd note of recognition, the cordial exchanges when they happened to be working in the same vicinity as one another. For all of his very obvious flaws, Arthur wasn't a bad person. In some ways, he was even decent. More than his communication, it was in the other, littler things that gave it away.

Like the fact that he'd picked up the bucket of ambrosia biscuits on the way to the stable to save Merlin from making a trip to the cold-room himself. Merlin had resigned himself to the duty when, the first day, Arthur had visibly expressed his distaste for the half-frozen mice, the boxes of crickets and the hanging carcasses that decorated the room containing the feed for Seward's coop residents. The ambrosia was the least offensive item in the room, but one still had to step into the vicinity of faintly dripping slabs of meat that didn't resemble any particular creature to grab it, not to mention withstand the assault of pungency to the nostrils.

It didn't bother Merlin so much. He'd seen a number of admittedly disgusting scenes as a product of his mother's role as Ealdor's only Healer. The same could not be said for Arthur, who had vehemently insisted that he was _not_ going taking another step into the cold-room again. Ever.

Evidently, something had changed in that regard.

That day, as had become usual, Merlin silently accepted the bucket of biscuits when Arthur offered them to him. He knew, or at least suspected, that to comment on the unexpected helpfulness or to thank Arthur would only make him embarrassed and cause lash out in that embarrassment. It had happened before and Merlin was a fast enough learner to recognise the situations that would elicit such a response once more.

Plucking a biscuit from the bucket, he held it out to Gedref. The unicorns long, purple tongue darted out to wrap around the biscuit in a slurp and slobber that made Merlin grin, even as he flicked his fingers to rid them of dripping saliva.

"That's disgusting," Arthur said, though his tone didn't sound quite as repulsed as it had even three days ago upon stating exactly the same thing.

"Unicorn saliva actually has medicinal properties, you know," Merlin said, scooping up another biscuit and handing it to Gedref as he nudged him insistently with his snout.

From the corner of his eye, Merlin could make out Arthur's raised eyebrow. "Really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"I have my suspicions," Arthur muttered. "How do you even know that?"

"Seward told me."

"He just told you?"

"I was asking him about unicorns and he got onto a bit of a monologue about everything he knows about them." Merlin shrugged, glancing towards him. "I tuned out most of it, but that one I remembered."

Arthur watched him for a moment longer, the faint tinge of distaste mixed with a strange expression that Merlin couldn't quite read. He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts before Merlin had reached the bottom of the bucket of ambrosia, however, and with a murmured "I'll go and get the rake", he disappeared from the stall.

Merlin handed over the last of the biscuits to Gedref's greedy snuffling and rose to standing once more. He wiped his hand upon his trousers as he stepped out of the stall himself, walking over to the tap sticking out of the wall across the stable and filling the bucket with water deep enough to swish and clean. When he returned back to Gedref's stall, however, he froze in step. The sight before him caught him with a mixture of delight, worry and wistful sadness.

Arthur found him like that when he returned. "What are you doing?" He asked, pausing at Merlin's side, momentarily catching his attention. He hardly needed Merlin to point at the unicorn to know what captured his attention, and glancing towards him Merlin was touched with surprise and commiseration when he saw the like-minded expression on Arthur's face. Then he turned back towards Gedref himself.

The young unicorn was still wobbling, but he had somehow managed to clamber to his feet. He wavered, shuffling slightly on his hooves that were splayed widely and head bowed slightly as though attempting to balance, but to Merlin's eyes he seemed to grow more stable every second.

"He must be nearly healed then," Merlin said quietly. Seward had informed them that if anyone were to know of the rate of recovery, of when the unicorn was truly well enough to stand, it would be Gedref. And yet, even knowing that it was going to happen, Merlin still felt a touch of surprise – for some reason, even after such a short time, he'd started to accept that his afternoon visits to Seward's coops would be a regular occurrence.

It was sad, to think that they might stop.

Seward found them an hour later still in the stalls. Merlin had made a point of giving Gedref a thorough – and largely unnecessary – whole-body grooming now that he had greater access to the entirety of the unicorn's flanks. Gedref seemed to be basking in the attention, leaning slightly upon his better legs with eyes half-closed and mumbling that familiar murmur that always made Merlin smile.

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to brush in circles," Arthur was saying, gesturing in a vaguely circular motion with his hand as he leant on the stall door and watched Merlin groom. "Isn't that why it's shaped like that?"

"When you actually take up the opportunity to brush him, Arthur, then you can show me how it's done," Merlin replied, not even pausing in his gentle strokes across the side of Gedref's withers as he spoke. "Besides, he hardly needs it."

"Exactly what I'm always telling you," Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why do you brush him every afternoon when you admit he doesn't need it?"

"Because he likes it."

"You don't _know_ he likes it."

"Yes, I do. Just look at him. He likes it."

"Until he actually tells you he likes it, I remain sceptical."

"He is telling me –"

"What's this?!" Seward seemed to have Apparated into existence beside Arthur, who gave a slight start at his sudden appearance before appearing slightly disgruntled at doing so. "Did he stand up all by himself?"

Merlin nodded, pausing in his brushing to glance over his shoulder at the professor. "Yeah, he's been standing all afternoon."

Seward beamed at Gedref, then at Merlin, then turned and shone his smile at Arthur who shifted uncomfortably once more under the attention. "This is wonderful! Wonderful! He shouldn't be more than a few days from being able to take himself back into the forest again, then."

"You'll just send him off? Just like that?" Arthur's question sounded faintly accusing, with an edge of sharpness that Merlin wondered at. As far as he knew, Arthur didn't have any overt inclination towards _liking_ Gedref, but if he hadn't known that and had simply heard his words, Merlin would have likely thought otherwise.

"Oh, not to worry, not to worry," Seward said, offering Arthur a comforting smile.

"I'm not worried."

Seward continued as though Arthur hadn't spoken. "That's the way with magical creatures of such intelligence. They know just as well as anyone else what they're capable of, when they're feeling able and can look after themselves."

"Have you looked after a unicorn before, then?" Merlin asked.

"Well, no," Seward admitted. "But I've read enough studies to know how it happens. When he's ready, Gedref will take himself back to the forest. He'll likely unlock his own stall door and walk out through the front door without even asking to be let out." Seward gave a fond sort of smile to the unicorn, who didn't seem to notice. "Terribly intelligent creatures, they are. If only they had hands instead of hooves!"

Merlin smiled as Seward chuckled to himself, even if he didn't particularly feel the inclined to. He went back to brushing Gedref's coat as Seward turned to asking Arthur about how the unicorn had been that afternoon, if he'd appeared stable on his feet and whether he'd flinched or withdrawn from a touch to his injured limbs.

It felt a little sad, Merlin pondered, hand pausing in his brushing as he lifted his other to pet at the smooth length of Gedref's mane. In such a short time, he'd become quite fond of the unicorn. He'd learned his personality just a little, had come to realise that he was nothing if not reminiscent of a toddler seeking the attention and affection of a parental figure from the way he nuzzled into Merlin's chest when he wrapped his arms around his neck, or kicked up a fuss and threw a tantrum of sorts when Arthur tried to urge him to move slightly so he could rake out the old hay from beneath him. He had a vocabulary of snorts and nickers and whinnies and clicks that Merlin had come to associate with happiness and dissatisfaction and discomfort and something like amusement.

And affection. Merlin could swear that he heard affection, too.

He met Gedref's eye as the liquid blackness turned upon him. Even hooded and blurred with drowsiness, the intelligence and attention of his gaze was evident. Merlin would miss that. It had certainly given him an appreciation for magical creatures that he hadn't possessed before. Or at least for unicorns.

 _And other things. There's other things I'll miss, too,_ Merlin thought, and glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. He could hardly assume that their shared detention had been an enjoyable experience for the other boy, but in many ways he'd miss the strange camaraderie they'd developed throughout it. He hardly knew Arthur, even from what conversation they'd exchanged, but from what he did know he could say that he would almost miss getting to know him a little better.

Arthur wasn't his friend, but Merlin doubted it would be quite so easy to go back to effectively ignoring one another as he had assumed at first that it would have been.

* * *

 

"Gedref's leaving."

That was it. Those two words were enough to make Arthur drop his knife and fork with a clatter onto his plate.

He was on his feet before he even fully registered that it was Merlin who had spoken. To the sound of Elyan's surprised call and Leon's amused snort, Arthur abandoned his dinner as he jumped over the back of the Gryffindor table bench. Without a word, he hastened after Merlin's retreating figure as they nearly ran from the crowded Great Hall.

Arthur had returned from detention barely half an hour ago. It was nearly two weeks since he and Merlin had begun caring for the unicorn, and remarkably, unexpectedly, Arthur had found himself hating it less than he had considered he would. When he'd finally been able to push through his self-reprimand, the added weight of his own punishments that his father had certainly intended he inflict upon himself, it had been just another item scheduled into his routine. And, surprisingly, it was an item that he had come to almost enjoy.

Oh, Arthur didn't like raking up horse manure, or coating his hands in hay dust that seemed to climb beneath his nails at every opportunity. But there was something calming and almost comfortable about the slow, quiet pace in the Magical Creatures coops, something so entirely removed from his usual daily routine that it felt almost meditative. Arthur found that the unicorn's dislike for him, no matter how warranted given that Arthur _had_ been the one to shoot him, wasn't quite as objectionable as he'd at first thought it would be, and mostly because he felt like he and the creature had an understanding.

Before he had come to spend time with the unicorn, Arthur would never have considered himself capable of thinking of them as being even remotely equal to his own intelligence and sophistication. And the unicorn wasn't; not really. He was intelligent in an entirely different way, not learned but still smart. Arthur had slowly come to realise that, to appreciate it.

That was how he had realised that they didn't like one another. Not as acquaintances and certainly not with any of the open affection that Merlin, for whatever reason, seemed to share with the unicorn. But they could tolerate one another, could work together to ease their circumstance and to pursue a mutual goal. Arthur was sure that they shared a wary curiosity, even if neither he nor the horse would voice it. That understanding was one Arthur found he could admire in a comrade, however tense their relationship. He found it even more remarkable that he could so easily accept the situation, given that he was, after all, corresponding with an animal.

Arthur hastened through the front doors of the castle, Merlin slowing to fall into step by side. They silently and unanimously agreed to break into a run through the semi-darkness as soon as their feet hit the base of the short stairwell spilling onto the courtyard. Arthur didn't ask how Merlin knew that Gedref – still a stupid name, no matter that Arthur had long since accepted it as unchangeable – was leaving, but didn't ask him. He didn't need to know. It was simply a matter of priorities; the top priority was to get to Seward's and the coops before the unicorn disappeared into the forest, never to be seen again.

Arthur found he was more saddened by that possibility than he realistically had any right to be. He didn't know why. He simply was.

Seward was waiting for them outside of his cottage. He beckoned then with a call of "Quickly, boys, quickly! I've an inkling that he's waiting to see you before he heads off but I doubt he'll wait for long!" Arthur picked up his pace, nearly sliding down the decline towards him as the professor hastened around his cottage to forest-side and disappeared from view. Arthur and Merlin raced after him.

Gedref came into view as they followed Seward footsteps, rounding the cottage a moment later. Arthur drew to a sharp halt, automatically whipping out a hand to grab at Merlin's shoulder as the he stumbled and nearly tripped himself over. Merlin had a ridiculously frustrating yet amusing tendency to trip over his own feet, a tendency that Arthur had accepted as part of his repertoire of faults, flaws, and general incompetency. He barely noticed the thanks that Merlin offered to him as he steadied himself, eyes trained upon to silver-gold unicorn that waited upon the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Gedref was turned towards them and Arthur could actually believe that he'd been waiting for them to arrive. He was a vision, even in the evening, his coat glowing almost luminescent on the backdrop of the shadowed trees. The graceful arch of his neck, the coils of his mane that seemed to flow with fluidity even in stillness, the slender lengths of his legs freed only a day before of bandages and strapping; even without knowledge of horseflesh, Arthur knew he was a fine animal. And that was to say nothing of the deep intelligence in his eyes, perceivable through no visible sense but apparent nonetheless.

Seward stepped forwards first as Arthur and Merlin caught their panting breaths. He raised a hand as he neared and slowly, gently, settled it to rest on the side of Gedref's neck. He stroked slowly, pensive for a moment, before speaking. "Well, it has been an honour to share these past weeks with you Gedref. Even if it was due to unfortunate reasons, I consider myself blessed to have partaken in even a small part of your life." He continued to stroke slowly for a moment before Gedref, head tilted towards him, uttered a low rumble of a nicker and tossed his head. Arthur considered the gesture could have meant a number of things – it could have just been the careless toss of a horse's head, after all – but Seward seemed to accept it as a genuine reply and only smiled his response. He patted Gedref's neck once more before stepping backwards.

Merlin started forwards an instant later, with not word or request of the professor. Not that he needed any. Seward seemed to accept that for whatever reason – perhaps that Merlin had been the first to try and heal him? – Gedref seemed particularly fond of Merlin. At least as fond of him as Merlin seemed to be in return.

Arthur watched with something that was _definitely_ not envy as Merlin approached the unicorn and didn't even pause before wrapping his arms around his neck. The curve of Gedref's head, hooking over his shoulder and bowing into him, seemed like a hug in reply. Arthur could hear Merlin murmur something but couldn't make it out. The unicorn's murmurs of reply did indeed seem a reply; Arthur wondered if Merlin perceived something different from the horse than the wordless nickers that Arthur heard.

Merlin took longer with Gedref than Seward had, and even then he seemed to withdraw his embrace with reluctance. Surprisingly, Arthur didn't feel even the slightest condescension towards him for his display of affection, even when he knew that in any other situation he would have been derogatory and horribly sympathetically embarrassed on his part. He didn't feel either such emotion, not even when Merlin finally stepped backwards with a sniff and a shininess to his eyes that could very well have been tears.

"Bye, Gedref," he muttered loud enough for Arthur to hear him. His voice was just slightly choked. "We'll miss you. Come back to visit sometime, okay?"

Arthur couldn't even snort at the words that the unicorn couldn't possibly have understood because just a part of him agreed fervently with the sentiment. He was even less able to when Gedref tipped his head in a very deliberate nod of affirmation.

Then he turned his dark eyes towards Arthur.

Arthur tried and failed not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of that gaze. He wasn't sure if it was accusing, considering or forgiving; he couldn't make it out. Especially when his eyes dropped guiltily to the ground, remorse that was not an entirely familiar emotion welling within him as he considered the haste and yes, the _stupidity_ of shooting the unicorn in the first place. Regardless of it being an accident, Arthur shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have been able to do it, really, and would have had he not been strong enough for his sudden explosive wariness to manifest in a magical force that struck through the protection of the Light. He should have remembered that he was safe in the Moon Print.

A poke of a finger into Arthur's side drew his frowning attention towards Merlin who, quite without his notice, had fallen back to his side. "What?"

Merlin stared at him for a moment expectantly before gesturing towards Gedref. "Go and say goodbye."

"I doubt he'd want me anywhere near him."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Seward said, his tone disregarding. "I know you've been a bit hesitant to go anywhere near him, Pendragon, but surely just this once. It might be the last chance you get."

Arthur glanced towards his professor, biting back the words that sat on the tip of his tongue. _I'm only hesitant because Gedref's just as wary as I am. He probably doesn't want the person who hurt him anywhere near him_.

But Merlin and Seward were staring at him expectantly, and when Arthur turned towards Gedref it was to see an eerily similar expectancy from the unicorn. He hadn't retreated any further towards the forest and indeed seemed to be waiting for Arthur.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur firmed himself and stepped forwards. Tentatively – though he hoped he didn't seem so – he raised a hand towards Gedref's brow. He'd seen Merlin petting him there before and he seemed to like it. He paused, hand an inch from the smoothness of the unicorns head, until Gedref leant forwards slightly and pushed his brow to Arthur's fingers.

Arthur released a slow, faintly shaky sigh. Warm, smooth, and incredibly soft; his hand stroked almost against his will. It was the first time he'd actually touched the unicorn, the attitude speaking of his reluctance to allow him approach as a sort of pointed reminder of exactly what had resulted in their acquaintance in the first place. Arthur hadn't realised it was anything special that he'd missed, but the sheer proximity, the flooding warmth that breathed of Light… it made him only more regretful of his actions.

"I'm sorry," Arthur found himself murmuring, just loud enough to be heard. It surprised him as much for the sincerity of his words as for the fact that he spoke them at all. Arthur had never been one who could easily admit his wrongs aloud, even if he was capable of doing so in the privacy of his own mind. But with his hand on Gedref's brow, the want to do so became a necessity.

Gedref met his gaze with his own. In that black darkness, Arthur could make out a reply. Not words, but emotion, as though the unicorn were conveying his feelings through the simple act of their touch. Acceptance and, remarkably, forgiveness.

 _I didn't expect that,_ Arthur's thoughts quietly murmured in the back of his mind. _I didn't expect to be forgiven, not so quickly. Maybe not ever. Why would Gedref even want to forgive me?_

He didn't know. Arthur didn't know if he deserved it, or whether the unicorn was simply demonstrating its innocence and purity in so readily offering him forgiveness. He hardly thought that what Seward had termed a 'selfless and altruistic act' in caring for the unicorn, in nursing him back to health, was adequate recompense. It wasn't even really selfless; they'd been _told_ to do it for their detention, after all.

Arthur's contemplations were cut short as Gedref withdrew his head from their contact. He stared for a moment longer at Arthur before, without another word – or thought, or feeling, or whatever it had been – he turned and made his slow, daintily-picking way back into the forest. Before he reached the tree line, he seemed to flow into accelerated motion and, with a blurring flash of silver-gold, the unicorn launched himself at a leap into the forest and took off at a canter that raced into a distant gallop. The crush of his hooves on the soft ground of the forest disappeared within moments, taking the vibrant image of the unicorn with it.

Arthur stared after passage. The forest seemed exceptionally dark with Gedref's absence, the same darkness that shrouded the school grounds when the sun eventually slipped beneath the horizon. He only managed to shake himself out of his staring when Seward spoke.

"Well, boys. That's that." Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the professor, noting the wistfulness of his expression that slowly faded as he drew himself back to reality. He turned a small smile onto Merlin and Arthur both. "I appreciate your help with caring for him. Both of you. As I said, a once in a lifetime opportunity you got there. Lucky, even if the circumstances that caused it weren't so favourable."

For the first time, Arthur didn't feel the immediate inclination to bow his head at the mention of Gedref's injury. Instead, he simply made his slow way back towards where Seward and Merlin stood.

"It was sort of our detention, sir," Merlin pointed out.

Seward blinked, then his smile widened. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? A pretty good detention if I do say so myself. Should I give you something a little more demanding, maybe? Something that will last you a little longer?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Merlin said, and Arthur wasn't sure but he thought that the cheeky smile that he gave the professor was lacking slightly in its usual vibrancy.

"I thought you might say that," Seward chuckled. Then he reached forwards and clapped a hand on both Arthur's and Merlin's shoulders. "A good job you've both done, though. Really. I appreciate your help."

"Any time," Merlin muttered, though Arthur thought he was barely even aware of his own words.

"Watch yourself, Emrys. I might hold you to that," Seward warned. Then, with only a final word of farewell and a reminder to hasten back to the castle before it got any darker, Seward turned and made his way back to his cottage.

Arthur didn't leave immediately. Neither did Merlin. Standing side by side, their mutual gazes drifted towards the path of Gedref's flight once more. For some reason, Arthur felt like he should expect the unicorn to come trotting back towards them at any moment.

"I can't really blame him," Merlin murmured after a long pause of silent staring.

"What?" Arthur turned towards him, finally shaking himself from his own staring.

Merlin gestured vaguely over his shoulder towards the creature coops. "I don't think I'd like to be locked indoors any longer than I had to be either. And Gedref's a creature of the forest. It's no wonder he wanted to leave as soon as he could."

Arthur turned his glance over his shoulder towards the dark shadows of the coop's labyrinth. "You have a problem with being indoors?" He asked curiously.

Merlin shrugged. "Not a problem, exactly, but I'd always prefer to be outside. Wouldn't you?" At Arthur's shrug, he continued. "Make's living in the Slytherin common room a bit annoying sometimes."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You have a problem with the dungeons?"

"Wouldn't you?" Merlin repeated. "They're about a thousand leagues under the sea and the closest thing to window's they've got are the ones that look out into the Black Lake." He gave a faint shudder.

Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment before slowly shaking his head. He gave a single huff of disbelieving laughter. "You know, you must be the least Slytherin Slytherin I've ever met."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a criticism."

"Probably a bit of both."

"Hm," Merlin nodded. "Thought so." Then, with another brief glance towards the forest, he turned and made his way around Seward's cottage and back up the slope towards the school. Arthur paused only for a moment to spare his own final glance over his shoulder before falling into step beside him.

There was a strange weight settling upon Arthur's shoulders that he contemplated upon their climb. Not the weight of guilt that had afflicted him first at disappointing his father and then at nearly killing the unicorn – he still felt a wash of relief suffuse him every time he remembered how close it had been – but something else. There was a hint of wistfulness, of sadness, and it took Arthur a moment to fully identify that it came from the fact that he was actually, in some ways, going to miss the detentions.

 _How ridiculous is that?_ He thought, but he couldn't deny it.

He would miss certain aspects. The unicorn itself, interesting as it was, and likely had something to do with what Seward in his CMC classes had called the 'Magical Creatures charisma'. The break from the regimented procedure of his usual school life which, though in the first few days had distressed him, had become relieving more than anything else.

And the fact that he wouldn't really have a chance to talk to Merlin anymore.

Arthur considered that last as he regarded the boy who walked alongside him out of the corner of his eye. He didn't think they were friends – Arthur still found it hard to consider the possibility of their ever actually having a friendship with Merlin – but there was certainly something else there. They were strangely comfortable with one another in a way that was similar yet slightly different to that he had Leon. Merlin had no filter for Arthur's feelings, would say what he thought and quite frequently commented on Arthur's stupidity, his incivility, his supposed arrogance and the presumptuousness of his actions. He used sarcasm and half-hearted insults as much as he did teasing and casual conversation and…

And Arthur found that he actually enjoyed it. There was something refreshing about talking to someone who didn't euphemise their thoughts, even if those thoughts were _wrong_. Merlin talked a lot – too much, in Arthur's opinion, and much of it unnecessary to voice. He made observations about his surroundings that Arthur didn't feel worthy of note and smiled at his own thoughts as though they painted a pretty picture for him alone to admire.

He was evidently next to incompetent with his school work, though Arthur had to admit he was a little curious – not awed, _curious_ – as to his ability to so easily cast wandless magic. He was unerringly clumsy, and twice in their climb back up to the school Arthur reflexively made a grab for him as he nearly lost his footing, distracted as he was by his own thoughts. He was air-headed and an idiot, and yet for some reason Arthur suspected that such idiocy at least in part concealed something deeper and more intelligent beneath the surface. Almost like in Gedref. The situation with his friend from home, with the bullying and the stubborn loyalty to that friend, proved it if nothing else.

Arthur considered it a regret that he wasn't afforded the opportunity to explore his suspicions further. He knew that, even had he been able to disregard the awkwardness that always settled between them in class, he would have found it difficult to correspond with Merlin outside of their shared detentions. There was just too much past, too much between them, to overlook so easily. Maybe had they been given more time… But no, it wouldn't happen.

Naturally, Merlin broke into the silence and Arthur's thoughts before they'd made it halfway back to the school. Of course he did; Merlin seemed physically incapable of remaining mute for any extended period of time. "You're going to miss it, aren't you?"

Arthur glanced sidelong at him. "Miss what?" He asked, even knowing exactly what Merlin was talking about.

Merlin wasn't so idiotic as to overlook Arthur's deliberate obtuseness. He raised an eyebrow but answered his question sincerely enough anyway. "Looking after Gedref. Even though you pretended not to like it, you actually did."

The most infuriating part was that Merlin didn't _ask_ if Arthur had indeed enjoyed himself. He sounded as though he knew it. With absolute certainty. Arthur pursed his lips. _I don't have to tell him that._ "I will not."

"Yes you will. You actually liked him towards the end."

"He's a unicorn, _Mer_ lin. There's no liking involved. He's a stupid beast."

Even as he said it, Arthur cringed at his own words. He didn't believe them, he knew he didn't, no more than Merlin evidently did. "Liar. I saw you with him, what, five minutes ago? I'm not blind, you know." He paused in step, then frowned in actual disapproval before starting up once more. "And he's not a stupid beast. You know that too, so don't say things like that."

"Where, exactly, did you get the idea that you could tell me what to do?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I just assumed that you'd prefer if your obvious stupidity was corrected before it trips you up on your face." He gave a mocking bow in step which, ironically enough, nearly caused him to trip and fall on his own face. Arthur actually regretted that he reacted reflexively enough to dart out his hand and steady him from falling. Merlin, the _idiot_ , didn't even look the slightest bit embarrassed for his near trip. He even murmured a nearly inaudible "thanks" when Arthur released him.

 _He's so confusing. Insults one second and gratitude the next. I can't keep up._ Arthur shook his head. "Whatever you say, mindless creature or not, I did not enjoy myself. Unlike you home-schoolers and your farming lifestyles, I'm neither practiced in nor inclined to spend my afternoons raking up horse shit."

Merlin snickered for a moment before be abruptly sobered with an expression of indignation. "Hey! Why is it that you seem to think that just because I was home schooled that I live on a farm? Or that I'm any more inclined to clean up shit than you are?"

"Well, aren't you?"

"Not hardly. Did you see my house? It doesn't look a whole lot like a farmhouse to me. I've never worked in a stable a day in my life." He frowned thoughtfully. "Though I guess it could be interesting just to try for once."

Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Only you would say something like that."

"I doubt it. I'm sure there are a lot of people who don't really mind physical labour like that. I didn't mind it all that much myself."

"That's because you hardly did any of it." It was Arthur's turn to be indignant this time. "You fed Gedref, and groomed him, and that was about it."

"I gave him the emotional support too," Merlin pointed out, his lips trembling in what Arthur suspected was the beginnings of a smirk.

"Emotional support. Right." He shook his head again. "Meanwhile, _I_ was the one who cleaned the stall, and replaced the hay, and scrubbed the water trough –"

"You did that once and I told you it didn't even look like it needed it."

"That doesn't matter! It doesn't matter if it was only once or every day. The fact is that you," Arthur poked Merlin's shoulder hard enough for Merlin to frown and bat away at his fingers, "didn't do any of that. You _owe_ me, _Mer_ lin."

It took half a dozen steps for Arthur to realise that Merlin had stopped behind him. He paused in his own step just on the edge of the courtyard, glancing over his shoulder. Merlin was staring at him with narrowed, considering eyes, the expression only just discernible across the short distance through the darkness. It was a little unnerving having him look at Arthur with such sobriety; the Merlin that Arthur had become just slightly familiar with over the past weeks was light-hearted, happy-go-lucky and more prone to smiles and laughter than deep thought and contemplation.

This expression reminded Arthur of that hidden intelligence in Gedref's eyes. The smarts that were a different smart to Arthur's own and apparent only in brief glimpses when Gedref – or Merlin – allowed it to be seen. It was just slightly fascinating, even if it was unnerving. "What?"

Merlin paused for a long moment before replying. "Nothing, I just… you're right."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur felt smugness drawing a smile across his face. "Are you admitting that you were wrong?"

Frustratingly, because Arthur had always found it difficult to admit as much himself, Merlin nodded without pause. "Not me wrong, exactly, but you're right. I meant I do owe you."

Arthur blinked. Merlin's words were unexpected, as much for their solemnity in response to Arthur's teasing as because of the words themselves. "What, for cleaning out Gedref's stall? Naturally, of course you do."

Merlin shook his head. "No, that's not what I… whatever, if it makes you happy. That too, I guess. I just meant that because of that and… and other things." His gaze fell to the ground briefly and Arthur could just make out a frown.

Other things? Like what? There was nothing else that Arthur had actually done for Merlin that Merlin hadn't already thanked him for. The incident with his friend – what was his name? Will? – was already weeks in the past. And besides, Merlin had expressed his gratitude for that. Several times in fact over the past few weeks, even if it was casually said in such a way that much of the time Arthur didn't realise that he'd actually thanked him again until they'd moved on from the conversation.

Fidgeting awkwardly in place, scuffing a foot on the pavers, Arthur shrugged. "Well, if you do feel like you owe me, you can just make up for it somehow." Turning, he continued up their path towards the castle. It really was getting quite dark now.

"How? What would you want?"

Arthur shrugged once more before, sparing a moment to glance at Merlin trotted up the last of the incline to fall in beside him, he turned and made his way into the castle once more. "I don't know, Merlin. Use your imagination."

"Maybe I could help you with Potions, yeah? You suck at that, right?"

Arthur immediately shifted from awkward to spluttering. "I do not _suck_."

Merlin's grin was bright in the evening darkness. Just like that he'd resorted back to teasing insults. "Yeah, you do. I'm surprised it wasn't you who nearly exploded your face off all those months ago. Mr Top Student, struggling with Potions." He shook his head with mock solemnity. "How embarrassing."

Arthur made a swipe for him, an attempt to cuff him on the shoulder if not the back of the head, but Merlin for once demonstrated a degree of agility and danced out of the way. Then he turned and fled up across the courtyard, nearly disappearing into the darkness and shadow of the castle

Arthur grumbled for a moment, but he couldn't withhold the smile that drew across his lips. Insult it may be, but somehow Merlin's insults didn't leave him quite as irritated as he would have been had he received them from someone else, even someone he was as close to as, for instance, Morgana. Shaking his head, he hastened his step until he was running in Merlin's wake.

* * *

 

"Happy Birthday!"

A chorus of calls and well-wishes sounded the instant Arthur stepped through the doors of the Great Hall. Gryffindor's along the length of the his table, some he barely even spoke to on the odd occasion, as well as some members from other houses – Gwen, notably, with Sefa Saffron and Dulac who was her near constant companion these days at her side – added their own cries to the mix.

A grin stretched across Arthur's face. A week after Easter made him one of the younger and later birthdays in his year's cohort, but regardless of the frequency of such celebrations throughout the year, Hogwarts' students always managed to make the day seem special. Leon's birthday, nearly a month before, had descended into a party of excessive proportions the evening of for the simple reason that it fell on a Saturday and Gryffindor's would take any chance presented to revel.

Arthur didn't mind. It wasn't a weekend for his birthday and so such raucous partying wouldn't arise, but the pats on the back as he drew along the length of the hall towards the third year's customary seating midway along its length were almost as good. He'd woken to the combined weight of Leon and Elyan throwing themselves upon his bed with full force, a wake up call that was only made less intrusive by the fact that, blessedly, Percival had refrained. Arthur doubted he would have escaped without at least a few broken ribs had the bigger boy piled on top of him too.

Not that he didn't make up for it. Under Arthur's protests, Percival had grabbed his ankles and dragged him bodily from his bed with the declaration of "Up and at 'em! You need to open your presents before breakfast!"

It had become something of a tradition over the past years between the four of them. They would always exchange gifts in their dormitory before descending for breakfast. Even more so in Arthur's case, Leon made sure, because Arthur's father always ensured that his own gifts were not given until the evening when they shared dinner in the privacy of his office.

That was how Arthur found himself sitting down at Gryffindor table later than he usually would for breakfast sporting a scarf that was really too hot to wear but he couldn't _not_ wear given the red colouration and the impressively detailed golden lions running and snarling along its length. Naturally, the house elves targeted his plate – as they did for all birthday celebrators – and he was afforded a stack of waffles drizzled in syrup and rich butter that he greedily tucked into.

Leon tried to steal some – of course he did; such thievery was as traditional as his birthday itself – and Vivian and Sophia took a moment out of their imposed, giggling bashfulness to wish him happy birthday. Owls bearing cards descended upon his throughout the meal, some with gifts small and large from distant relatives or friends or, on the odd occasion, acquaintances of the Pendragon family hoping to remain in his radar of awareness. Arthur paused for each delivery to flick open envelopes and smile or lift his eyebrows at the letters or gifts that were given to him. Before he was halfway through his meal, Arthur was surrounded by a surplus of paper wrappings, parchments and cards, and a variety of gifts both useful and confusing.

"Could you guess which one was mine?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Morgana standing with her usual public façade of cool aloofness behind him. He rolled his eyes. "Of course I could, Morgana. You give me the same thing every year."

Morgana inclined her head with a grace and decorum that didn't fool Arthur in the slightest. "And I shall continue to until grow to fully appreciate the usefulness of such a gift."

"You know I am capable of buying my own socks, right?"

"Not _these_ kind of socks, though," Morgana pointed out, leaning over his shoulder and poking a delicate finger at a ridiculously large pile of green, black and silver cotton. "I think that the colour would suit you well."

Arthur scowled at her without much heat; not even Morgana could stifle his mood on his birthday. "I'm not wearing Slytherin colours."

"Wear the blue ones, then if you must so object," she said, folding her arms primly. "Anything but that abominable red."

"Why did you give me blue ones this year?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, riffling through the cotton socks to – yes, there was indeed a blue and bronze coloured pair. "Shooting for Ravenclaw now, are you?"

"Hardly," Morgana sniffed. "A friend of mine simply considered himself obliged to gift you something himself when I mentioned buying your birthday present."

"A friend?" Arthur glanced towards her curiously. "Have you roped yourself another poor sod to be your boyfriend again, Morgana? And a Ravenclaw?" He shook his head with teasing regret. "I'd thought that Ravenclaws were smarter than that."

Morgana snorted loud enough for several heads to turn towards her and blink in surprise. She chased the gazes back to their own plates with a well-directed glance that wasn't quite a glare. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't want a boyfriend at the moment." And without further explanation she turned and strode away from him, pausing only to nod and murmur the greeting of "Gwen", as the Hufflepuff girl slipped past her to take her place.

"Gwen," Arthur acknowledged with a nod, turning back to his half-eaten waffles. "Good morning."

"Morning, Arthur," Gwen smiled brightly. She reached a hand over to Elyan and plucked a soldier of toast from his plate, eliciting an indignant "Hey!" from him as his childish arrangement of edible troops was interrupted. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Gwen."

"I have your present for you," she beamed, drawing a parcel from the pocket of her robes. "Do you want it?"

"That depends entirely upon what it is."

"Spoilt," Gwen sighed, but her smile only widened. "Hope you like it."

Placing his fork down once more, Arthur unwrapped the bundle. A hardcover book tumbled out and his curious frown was swept aside in a wave of delight as he read the title: _Magic of the Mind_ by Thelia Occlumen.

"Gwen! Where did you even get this?" His appreciation was nearly overridden with enthusiastic awe. Self-named Thelia Occlumen, the original discoverer and compiler of the study and casting of Occlumency, was a legend. It was she who the discipline was named for, after all. The single book she had written upon it was sorely coveted and cost a pretty penny to purchase, as much because the study itself raised sceptical eyebrows as because the number of prints a year were cruelly limited.

Gwen tapped her nose. "I know people."

"You mean your father knows people."

"Same thing."

Arthur shook his head, awe dwindling slightly to allow his appreciation to well once more. "How did you know that I wanted to study Occlumency?"

"Other than the fact that I've heard you mention it about a hundred times?" Gwen smiled to take the weight of exasperation from her words. "Morgana might have mentioned it too. Or more, she mentioned that she had enjoyed teasing you with threats that she'd attack you with Legilimency." Gwen chuckled as though the possibility truly was nothing more than a harmless threat rather than a full-frontal attack upon the mind. Arthur had to wonder at times if Gwen ever really considered anyone else to have a cruel bone in there body, given that such a thing was so far removed from anything Gwen possessed.

Placing the book reverently back into its papers wrapping, and folding it snugly to avoid the potential of staining with flung food, Arthur began eating once more. "You seem to be getting along with Morgana relatively well. When did that even start?" He recalled them both comforting Merlin on the afternoon when he'd been nearly hysterical in the Entrance Hall but couldn't think of them interacting at all before that.

"Since Merlin started studying with her, and managed to convince her to tutor me, too." Gwen replied, and Arthur could only grunt. Of course, he should have thought of the common denominator between the two? "And yeah, we get along well enough. She's interesting. Not like how I expected at all."

"She is a bit scary sometimes, isn't she?" Leon said, leaning around Arthur to offer Gwen a wince.

"She is not," Gwen refuted with a frown. It rapidly deteriorated however as she fiddled with the crust of the toast soldier she'd stolen. "Well, not much, anyway. She's very smart, though, and she's a good teacher. Not to mention that Merlin seems to really like her, and I trust his judgement. Maybe you should study with us some time, Arthur? We meet up in the library once a week. I've found it quite helpful, actually."

Before Arthur could reply to that absolutely appalling suggestion, he was interrupted with the descent of an owl. It was one he didn't recognise – which wasn't all that unusual, given the array of barely familiar correspondents he'd received owls from that day already – but more surprising was the package it held. Long and vaguely cylindrical, though it tapered noticeably at one end.

The Great Owl that carried it dropped the parcel overhead as it swooped low, and it was only a mixture of quidditch reflexes and the driving demand of his friends' surrounding exclamations that enabled Arthur to snatch it before it could crash on the table. Elyan and Percival across from him quickly cleared a space in the middle of the table for Arthur to place it down.

He did so nearly as reverently as he had with Gwen's Occlumency book, though for a different reason entirely. He knew the shape of the parcel, even gift-wrapped as it was. He knew the weight. Arthur barely spared the thought that his suspicions might be incorrect.

"Is that a...?" Leon trailed off, eyes wide and blinking in surprise.

Arthur didn't reply. In a swift shredding of paper, he unwrapped the present and exposed it to gasps of appreciation.

"That… that's an _Excalibur 1.0_ ," Elyan whispered, longing thick in his tone. "They're not even on the market yet."

Arthur's gaze drew along the length of the broomstick. He barely dared blink for fear that it might disappear. Even with a single glance of an untrained eye it was obvious that it was above and beyond the _Brushtail_ and _Lightning Bolt_ makes. Far better than the old _Falconwing_ he'd been using since his old broom had been deemed magically broken. The dark, burgundy wood was polished to a glossy shine, the wave of the stick's length sleek and dipping just slightly in the seat. Golden stirrups curved closely over the bristled tail, dark twigs waxed and captured into a teardrop shape. At the head of the broom, in golden cursive, the name _Excalibur_ was printed like a tattoo. Arthur couldn't help but touch it, could have sworn that the wood thrummed with faint, magical warmth beneath his fingers.

"Who's it from?" Percival asked, his own hand drifting forward but respectfully withholding from touching the broom himself.

Arthur had to shake himself from his momentary fixation to search the wrappings for a note. He found a small, folded card that he'd missed, buried beneath the broom. Flipping it open, he found himself even more surprised for the words that were written in a slanted scribble.

_You're right. I do owe you. I hope this makes up for it a little bit._

_And I suppose you could also consider it a birthday present, but if you do that's entirely your choice._

_P.S. It's sort of a joint gift. My friend's dad is a broomstick maker – he was the one that first developed the_ Striker _line – and they were more than happy to help me when I told them who it was for. They said thanks, too._

There was no signature at the bottom of the card. There was no signature needed. Arthur lifted his gaze, eyes drawn towards the Slytherin table.

Merlin had his back to him and was talking to that Bast girl with more animation than a simple breakfast conversation should warrant. The spoon in his hand looked set to be flung at his friend who, surprisingly, didn't seem even slightly perturbed for the fact.

As though he felt the weight of his gaze upon him, however, Merlin halted mid sentence and glanced over his shoulder towards Arthur. He met his gaze for a moment, the blankness shifting into a faint smirk before he vanquished it with a deliberately daft expression and mouthed "What?"

Arthur only shook his head, dropping his gaze down to the broom once more. There was no keeping the smile from stretching across his face this time, and for once Arthur didn't care who saw it.

_Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it might be possible to be friends after all, if he's prepared to make the effort… Just maybe._


	16. Of Strength and Stones

                                                                       

Merlin took a deep breath as he prepared himself to knock on the door. He'd rarely felt more awkward or hesitant in his life, with every muscle in him urging him to turn on his heel and leave the corridor that was darkened by more than just the depths of night.

It was late.

He needed to get some sleep for the next day, even if exams were still days from starting.

It wasn't his fault that he hadn't been to visit for months. He wasn't the one who'd been in the wrong.

It was _embarrassing_.

Each argument Merlin saw as the clutching at straws that they were. There was no real reason that he shouldn't come to visit, even if he had been angered at Kilgharrah for his attitude towards Morgana and Mordred. The ex-Dark Arts professor might be in the wrong, yes. He might have been cruel and baseless in his accusations of against Merlin's new friends, of that Merlin was convinced. But it was just his opinion, a warning of sorts because he had, for some reason that Merlin suspected had to do with whatever Seeing powers he possessed, become convinced that such a warning was necessary.

Merlin couldn't dispute someone for a well-intentioned warning, even if it was wrong. That was hardly fair.

Besides, Merlin wanted to see him for the lessons. He would be lying if he said that wasn't the driving force behind his desire to return. Over the months, Merlin hadn't managed to perform wandless, wordless magic once. Not once. And it wasn't because he hadn't been trying, nor because he hadn't practiced. Infuriatingly, he _just couldn't do it_.

 _Yes, it might not be the right reason to come back to him, but it is the main reason. A selfish reason, but it is_ the _reason_. Merlin would admit that, out of all the professors that had spoken to him of wandless magic, he believed that Kilgharrah knew what he was talking about the most simply because he went so much deeper, explored so much further in his explanation. His instructions were more than simply "Do this, but without a wand".

So, taking a deep breath, Merlin gritted his teeth and knocked on the door. At his third knock, the door swung inwards to the rumbling words "Come in, Merlin".

It was as though it was any other night, any other lesson that Merlin had slipped through the silent, sleeping floors after curfew to attend. Swallowing back his nervousness, Merlin edged into the room, eyes trained on the floor.

The room was lit, as usual, with a scattering of candles upon candlesticks, in bowls or perched on the walls like juvenile torches. The fireplace burned low, filling the room with its usual warmth that wasn't quite as necessary in spring as it had been at the end of the previous year. Shadows leapt across the divans, painting the walls with dancing figures and shrouding the bed in shadow. And in the far corner of the room, Merlin could make out the nearly indiscernible shape of Kilgharrah in his corner.

Peering warily, uncomfortably, Merlin watched at Kilgharrah slithered as fluidly as a snake from his corner. He rose from where he'd obviously been sitting into his full lean, towering form, the size of which was only enhanced rather than concealed by the folds of his brown robes.

"Good evening, young warlock," Kilgharrah greeted him, much as he always had with the archaic term for wizard. "It has been some time, I believe."

Merlin nodded, for a moment unable to speak. Then he cleared his throat and tried anyway. "I… yes, it has been a while. A couple of months." He didn't know why he felt the need to clarify just how long he'd been resolutely resisting returning to the night lessons in the dungeon room. Maybe because he half suspected that Kilgharrah was more than just physically removed from the outside world in his little cave of sorts in the depth of the school?

"Ah, yes. Quite some time then. For you." The professor hummed mildly, silent for a moment as Merlin contemplated what his words meant. "I had wondered the night you left if you were perhaps angered by my… cautioning."

As if in response, a flicker of anger arose once more in Merlin's chest, the cold chill surfacing once more. _No, Kilgharrah_ was _wrong to say that about Morgana and Mordred, no matter what his basis for saying it. Even if it was from a prophecy, everyone knows that prophecies are so vague that it's almost impossible to tell anything concrete from them. Not to mention that they can be changed. They_ can _be._ He had to bite down on his urge to voice his disgruntlement. It was a struggle.

"However," Kilgharrah continued after a pause, "I am pleased that you have chosen to return." He held up a hand, as though to forestall the words that Merlin, admittedly, had been about to speak. "I do not wish for an explanation as to why you chose to do so. Nor do I need to hear of one from you to convince me to assist in your teaching once more."

Stepping slowly across the room, Kilgharrah eased himself onto one of the divans. "Shall we begin again?"

Just like that, they started once more. Whether it was pure chance or the support of Kilgharrah's coaching, of his suggestions, not an hour into their time together Merlin did indeed manage that which he'd been unable to do for so long.

"I did it!" Merlin bounced in his seat in excitement, hand holding the globe of his wordless _Lumos_ aloft half a handbreadth above his palm. It pulsed slightly with cool, white-blue glow, overwhelming the soft warmth of the firelight. He'd quite forgotten his earlier misgivings in the light of his success. "I can't believe it, I actually did it."

"Well done, Merlin," Kilgharrah murmured, a small smile curling his lips. Or what Merlin could only assume was a smile; sometimes it was difficult to tell from amidst the wreckage of his face. "Your will was evidently driving your magic. I do believe I could almost feel it."

Merlin grinned at him in return, earlier disgruntlement vanished taking the compliment despite the exaggeration he was sure Kilgharrah spoke. At least, he thought it was an exaggeration. "I do try."

Kilgharrah chuckled. "Yes, I can see that. Forgive me, however, for I must ask. Could you relay the process of your conjugation to me?"

"Why?"

"Simply so I may gauge the point of your progression."

Frowning, curious, Merlin obliged. "I just sort of… you know, I used the wand movement with my finger – you saw that, didn't you? – and then I thought as forcefully as I could about wanting to produce a light, and then I thought of the incantation _Lumos_ though didn't say it out loud." He shrugged. "Isn't that was I was supposed to do?"

"Very much so," Kilgharrah nodded. Then he paused. "At this stage."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Kilgharrah leaned forwards in his seat, "that you will get there. And that you are taking the appropriate steps to achieve that which I believe you are capable of."

Kilgharrah's words were nothing but encouraging, yet even so, Merlin felt discontented by the thought that he wasn't quite reaching standards. Or at least, that what progress he made wasn't quite edging towards the finishing line. Detachedly, he noticed that it was something remarkable that he had so rapidly shifted from awkwardly uneasy and nervous to even enter the room and back to listening attentively to Kilgharrah's every word with the intention of improving his magical skills. He didn't know what it was but something about the man's slow, thrumming voice, his steady approach and his encouragement that was silent as much as it was spoken, seemed to push him towards self-improvement in ways that none of his other professors really seemed able to.

Merlin couldn't help himself. He blurted out the words before he had the forethought to hold them back, to accept the encouragement that was provided. "What am I doing wrong? What am I supposed to be doing?"

"You are doing nothing wrong, Merlin. Not at this stage." There was a touch of amusement in Kilgharrah's tone. "Wandless magic takes years of patience, practice and perseverance. You have been actively learning to master your natural ability for less than a year."

Merlin shifted in his seat, frowning at the _Lumos_ cupping in his palm. Whether it was the distraction of his concentration of simply the magic he'd poured into the charm seeping out, he noticed begin to flutter for a moment before winking out. He lowered his hand to his lap. "Then what will I be doing? In the future, I mean. You said I'd get there. Get where?"

Kilgharrah cocked his head, bird-like, as he considered Merlin for a moment. "Alright. I will tell you. But understand that I by no means believe that this progression in your skill should be attained in the near future. Potentially not even in the far future."

Merlin turned towards him more fully, giving the professor his full attention and biting back his natural inclination to dispute. "Got it. I understand."

"Do you really?" Kilgharrah murmured, but the question seemed asked more of himself than of Merlin. He continued before Merlin could reassure him of his awareness. "True wandless witches and wizards do not require either wand or incantation because they do not _need_ them. A wand acts as a channel, much like a river that connects a lake to the greater ocean, while the incantation directs the flow of that river. They are assists, crutches if you will, that ease the passage of magic towards the goal of the caster. Once, they were not necessary at all."

Merlin blinked. He didn't know what that had expressly to do with his question, but it was interesting nonetheless. "People didn't used to use wands and words to cast magic?"

Kilgharrah shook his head. "Quite right. Long, long ago, centuries past, it became understood that the goal of magical intent could be more refined with the use of an incantation. Some time after that, a little over a millennia ago or thereabouts, such ease was increased when the use of a wand with a magical core was incorporated. Those that had previously been unable to cast magic for their weakness could now do so."

Leaning forwards, Merlin barely noticed that his own head tilted to mirror the cocking of the professors. The picture Kilgharrah was painting, of many, many people casting without wands let alone words… it seemed fantastic. And mind-bogglingly strange, so far removed as it was from the reality of what he knew. "There were people that had magic but couldn't use it?"

"Quite. Most magic manifested itself in a particular area, what these days is referred to as a Gift." Kilgharrah's eyes sharpened for a moment, and Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, but the professor didn't pursue the subject further. "In addition, magic was stronger when it was cast, though the number of those able to do so were far fewer."

"Then aren't wands and incantations a good thing?"

"They could be construed as such. By many, they are indeed useful. Most are unaware that such a history of magic even exists. There is a reason the Dark Ages are so termed – they were named for what little is known of the time." Again, the professor's eyes swirled meaningfully, but once more he pursued the subject no further. "What has been overlooked, what knowledge has been forgotten with such a history, is that through the use of such aids magic has become shaped. It is confined and it is limited in its capability."

Kilgharrah closed his eyes momentarily, and Merlin was given the impression that he was reflecting upon a long-ago past. He hummed slightly, contentedly and a little wistfully, before opening his eyes and continuing. "Those that have the ability to cast wandlessly, that have the strength and the understanding of their own magic, should strive to pursue that skill to the utmost. There are so few that truly understand the beauty of wandless, wordless magic itself."

"I thought you said ages ago wandless and wordless magic didn't depend on the strength of the witch or wizard," Merlin disputed, frowning.

"Not primarily, no. But those with minimal strength similarly lack the ability to draw upon substantial amounts of magic, to draw as deeply, and hence lack the ability to fully understand it."

Merlin nodded slowly, vaguely understanding even if he did consider that reality to be just a little unfair. Why should someone without as much magical strength be unable to understand their own magic? It seemed so unfair. "Alright. I get it. Wands and incantations are bad."

"They are not 'bad', Merlin," Kilgharrah huffed with a sigh just short of exasperated. "They are simply limiting. In many ways they are a benefit to the Wizarding world."

"Right, yeah," Merlin said distractedly. He found himself chewing his lip in thought. "But I don't really understand what that has to do with what stage I'm at or anything, or what I'm trying to get to."

"It has everything to do with you," Kilgharrah grumbled. "The very reason I urge you not to use an incantation is to remove the narrowness of your focus when you cast."

"But I didn't speak it. I didn't say anything that last time."

"But you thought it," Kilgharrah said, raising a finger as though pointing to the uttered words, an indication of the obvious. "And by thinking it, you limit the possibilities of your charm, of what you could produce with the strength you pour alongside your intentions."

"But that's what I don't really understand." Merlin leant further forwards in his seat, dropping an elbow onto his knee and propping his chin upon his palm. "Why does it even matter? I still made the light by thinking _Lumos_. That was what I meant to do, wasn't it?"

"What is the function of the _Lumos_ charm, Merlin?"

Merlin blinked at the unexpectedness of the question. "What? What do you mean? Isn't it pretty obvious?"

"Tell me anyway." Kilgharrah leant backwards in a slouch upon the divan. Merlin got the distinct impression that he was quite enjoying dangling little carrots of the larger vegetable patch that was his unspoken field of information. Like a cat baiting a mouse.

Deciding to oblige him, Merlin shrugged. "It makes light."

"To?"

"So help you see in the dark." _Obviously_.

"Correct," Kilgharrah nodded, as though he'd answered a particularly difficult question to his capacity. "But do you need to limit it to producing a single globe of light, a single size, and at the tip of a wand or, in a wandless case, in the palm of your hand."

Slowly raising his chin from his hand, Merlin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I refer to the alternative uses of the same amount of magical energy with the same goal achieved and put to a more effective use. For instance," Kilgharrah held up a hand and a globe of _Lumos_ light sprung into existence above his palm. Merlin started, eyes widening. He'd suspected – no, he'd _known_ – that Kilgharrah must have been able to cast wandless magic, but he hadn't had his suspicions confirmed. "This is the typical _Lumos_ charm. It is the result of the incantation, and every witch or wizard who utilised a wand and such an incantation, verbally or mentally, will produce the same result.

"But with the same amount of energy, I can alter the form the magic takes to achieve the same conclusive result." Kilgharrah lowered his hand as the _Lumos_ rose towards the ceiling.

"I can move it from its source of origin." The globe of light made a slow circle of the room, shrinking slightly with distance but growing once more as it drew back towards Kilgharrah.

"I can disperse the light, so that it more evenly spreads about a contained area." The globe thinned and stretched, seeming to dissipate and spreading a thin, cloud-like blanket of white-blue light throughout the entire room. Merlin drew his gaze around himself, enraptured as he took in the room that was now only partially hidden by the blanketing shadows.

Kilgharrah cocked his head, continuing. "I can alter the colour, to make it less offensive to the eyes." The light sprung like a released rubber band back into it's globe once more, and began to shimmer in colours as it drew back towards him. First green, then yellow, then in quick succession gold-orange-red until the room was flooded with the same rich warmth of the candles but emitted from the _Lumos_.

"Or," the professor murmured as the globe settled above his gnarled hand once more, "I can produce the same effects exactly without the use of the light at all." And the _Lumos_ winked out.

Merlin blinked, staring at the spot that the red light had been with a hint of awe. It took him a moment to register what Kilgharrah had just said. "What did you mean? With that last one?"

"It is a little difficult to see without the touch of your magic," Kilgharrah said. The he made a beckoning gesture with his hand. "Come. Feel the magic. Tell me where the spell is and whatit is doing."

Leaning forwards once more, even more curious, Merlin extended his magical awareness forcibly. It was a learned skill, something that was acquired from practice and one's own inclination rather than being deliberately taught. And Merlin reached towards the professor, magical fingers gently probing for the source of the spell.

He withdrew his questing fingers when he found it, studied it, and thought he understood. Blinking to clear the disconcerting double-vision that sometimes arose, he stared up at Kilgharrah. The man peered down at him expectantly. "It's on your eyes. It's… it's brightening and sort of… wrapping them. What's it doing?"

"Can you not guess? Consider what the _Lumos_ Charm invariably achieves."

Chewing his lip, Merlin pondered. "Does… Is your magic helping you see in the dark?"

A smile spread slow and wide across Kilgharrah's lips. He nodded just as slowly. "It does indeed. With the same intention, and the same amount of magical strength. Less, even, in this instance, for the distance magic is cast from the caster's body the more difficult and demanding that magic becomes."

Merlin felt a smile settle upon his own lips. "That's fantastic."

"It is indeed. But more important than your entertainment, do you believe I have answered your question?"

Opening his mouth to reply, Merlin paused for a moment considering. He'd asked why Kilgharrah hadn't wanted him to even think the incantation, and yes, he supposed he understood now. At least a little bit. With the same intention and the same amount of magical energy – or even less – Kilgharrah had varied the form that his magic took into a variety of alterations. Merlin didn't even know if charms existed that could produce a red _Lumos_ or to enable him to see in the dark. And all that was possible just by casting his magic forth and encouraging it with his will and intention?

The possibilities were endless. It was vast, dizzying and entirely tempting. If Merlin had needed any reason to push himself to achieve wandless, wordless magic – or more than that, to pursue it the way Kilgharrah was suggesting – the display he'd just witnessed would have supplied it.

"I think so," he answered, nodding. "Yes, I think so."

"Good." Kilgharrah nodded in return before sitting up straight in his seat once more. "Now, try again. You may quote the incantation in your head for now – do not strive for the extensive or the impossible just yet, Merlin – but bear in mind that such an endpoint is that which we strive to achieve."

Merlin nodded, eager to get back into his attempts. Rubbing his hands together, he held out a single palm briefly before halting and considering the gesture. Then he tucked it back in his lap. _If I'm going to try, I may as well try the way Kilgharrah wants me to eventually be able to do._

It was likely such a resolution that resulted in Merlin being unable to produce a _Lumos_ – or a charm with the same goal as a _Lumos_ – at all for the following hour. Well, except for the once when he grew momentarily frustrated and thought the incantation itself and a white-blue globe sprung into existence. He'd glared at the offending light as it settled above the hand he held resolutely in his lap, despite the approving words Kilgharrah afforded him.

"Well done, Merlin. I hazard a guess that you thought the incantation, where your previous attempts have been without?"

"Yes," Merlin grumbled, still glaring at the light.

"That is not a problem. Not in the slightest. If that is the first unvoiced incantation that you have attempted and it produced the intended charm immediately then you have much to be proud of for."

"But it's the wrong charm," Merlin sighed, frustrated. "I don't _want_ to produce a _Lumos_ Charm. I didn't mean to think the incantation at all."

"Then what were you trying to do?" Kilgharrah asked. "I believe that is at least part of your problem. You are attempting to enable yourself to see in the dark. What form would your magic take to enable that? If not a _Lumos_ Charm, then what?"

Kilgharrah's words clung with Merlin for the rest of the lesson, and though he didn't manage to produce anything even resembling a _Lumos_ his frustration was soothed. He rose when Kilgharrah suggested he take his leave and moved towards the door without comment but a word of thanks.

Merlin did pause in the doorway, however, to glance over his shoulder at the old professor. He frowned curiously at the man who hadn't moved an inch from the divan but had instead produced a faint ring of orange lights that spun in a circle above his palm like little fireflies.

Kilgharrah hadn't mentioned Morgana or Mordred once, despite the evident anger that mention of them had provoked in their last lesson. Merlin had to credit him that, had to be thankful for it, and it was that more than anything else that drove him to offer the otherwise unrelated words.

"Just so you know, Professor… Arthur Pendragon? He's not as much of a prat as I thought he was."

Kilgharrah turned his attention towards Merlin with his usual steady slowness. It occurred to Merlin only as he met his eyes that perhaps he shouldn't have used such language.

But the ex-professor didn't seem angered. If anything, he appeared amused. "Is that so?"

Hesitantly, Merlin nodded. He had though Kilgharrah would appreciate his mention of Arthur, given that he had asked on enough occasions of the status of their supposedly encroaching friendship. Merlin had to wonder, to suspect even a potential credit to Kilgharrah's supposedly prophetic claim. He wouldn't say that he and Arthur were exactly _friends_ , but the unvoiced 'not yet' was definitely drifting upon the edges of Merlin's thoughts. He didn't and wouldn't actively pursue such a friendship, but what with their detention that had ended weeks before and the effort that Arthur had been making since to be cordial and even nice at times was something at least. Merlin suspected it had a significant amount to do with the broomstick he'd given him for his birthday, but he wasn't complaining. An Arthur attempting to be nice was better than one wavering on the edge of glaring or staring with thinly veiled confusion and little else.

"Well, he's still annoying," Merlin replied, plucking distractedly at the sleeves of his robes. "Still a pr- still _annoying_. But yeah, not as much as he used to be." Merlin paused, then admitted a little ruefully, "Or at least not as much as I used to think he was."

Kilgharrah slowly nodded his head, his smile broadening in an expression more satisfied than Merlin had ever seen before. It put him faintly in mind of Gwen when she'd managed to urge him into studying and, after a long session, had received his begrudging thanks for that urging and for assisting him along the way. It was strange, to see such a similar expression on such a different face. "I am pleased to hear it."

"Why?" Merlin couldn't help but ask.

"Why am I pleased?"

"Why any of it? Why do you care if I'm friends with Arthur at all?" Merlin shook his head with the confusion that he'd barely let himself acknowledge for months for its utter stupidity. "What does it matter if we like each other or not?"

Kilgharrah slouched once more into his seat, lowering his hand though the twirling orange lights still spun. He cocked his head at Merlin and though his smile shrunk slightly it seemed to grow deeper. More impressed. "I believe that you would be able to accomplish significant feats, the two of you, should you work alongside one another rather then opposite. You are similar, the both of you, but complimentary. Two sides of the same coin, if you would."

Merlin stared blankly back at the professor, for once devoid of desire to speak. Not that he didn't have questions to ask – what did that even mean? Complimentary? Significant feats? Had Kilgharrah Seen something? – but he didn't feel inclined to ask them. For whatever reason, he had the suspicion that Kilgharrah wouldn't answer him as simply as he wished, that his replies would most likely be wrought with cryptic quotes and hinted suggestions.

Finally, he managed to shake himself from his silence and turned once more towards the door. "Right. Well, I guess… whatever. I just thought you'd like to know." Then he turned and stepped through the door into the dark dungeon corridor beyond.

Kilgharrah's murmured "I shall see you next time, Merlin," slithered through the door just before he closed it. As always, there was no demand in the professor's tone, merely an invitation. Merlin had to wonder if, had he not mentioned how long he'd absented between lessons, whether Kilgharrah would have noticed at all that so much time had passed. Shaking his head, he cast the thought aside as useless and made his winding way back from the Eastern Dungeons wing towards the Slytherin dormitory.

* * *

 

With a groan, Merlin stepped out of the classroom. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, rubbing the grogginess from his eyes before slipping fingers to his temple once more in a wince. His headache had been throbbing and intermittently waxing then waning for a week now, and though Merlin wasn't completely sure he thought he could identify the cause well enough.

Exams.

He'd never sat any exams before. Not the likes of which were conducted at Hogwarts. Oh, Hunith would test him. She would sit him down in a mock-formal setting and require that he answer questions without the aid of any notes he may have made or textbooks that could provide the correct reply. But that was nothing compared to the end of year exams held at school.

The exams… they were even worse that the regular testing that was held throughout the term, and Merlin had thought there could be little else that could trump those tests. In these, it was the very tension in the air, so thick and palpable that he could have sliced it with a carving knife, that made it so much worse. Everyone seemed to be terrified for some reason and Merlin felt his own nervousness adding to the mixture of that brewing tension. There was no logical reason for it, for what could truly happen if he flunked an exam? But that logic didn't seem to help any.

The presence of Freya falling into step at his side drew Merlin's attention from rubbing at his head. He dropped his hands, made a gesture along the corridor and they both left at a quick pace to escape the lingering weight of exam jitters that hadn't been entirely alleviated with the conclusion of said exam.

"How'd you go?" Merlin asked, glancing down at her.

Freya pulled a face. "I d-don't know. I'm fairly terrible at H-H-Herbology, but then I'm not r-really all that good at any of my subjects."

"That's not true. You're smart enough. You're just the sort of smart that realises that writing a stupid essay and trying to draw sketches of weeds and flowers from memory is actually kind of stupid."

Smiling, Freya ducked her head at the compliment. Even if, Merlin admitted, it wasn't all that much of a compliment. He had to wonder at how little Freya had received any sort of kind words in the past that she was so taken with something that was barely praise. "Th-thanks, Merlin. How do you think you w-w-went?"

It was Merlin's turn to pull a face this time. "Hm. Well, probably better than I did in History, but still not very well. But at the moment, I don't really care. Just happy that it's over. At least we didn't have to go all the way down to the greenhouses for the exam. That would have sucked."

"T-true. We had to last year. I wonder w-w-why we didn't have to this year?" She frowned thoughtfully, then seemed to start at a thought. "B-but that's not true! You're good at Herbology. You help m-me a-all the time!"

"I'm not, actually. I just remember some of the stuff that my mum taught me, things that I learnt because she's a Healer. Most of the new content stuff," Merlin made a sweeping motion of his fingers across his crown. "Straight over my head."

"At least we've only got one more n-now," Freya said with what sounded like a relieved sigh. "E-even if Astronomy is really b-boring."

"And late at night." Merlin shuddered.

"I have trouble looking through t-t-telescopes."

"I have trouble telling stars apart. They honestly look all the same to me."

"At l-least you and actually see something when you look."

"Not really. My eyelashes get in the way."

"M-me too! That always happens with m-me."

They giggled to one another, as much to distract from what was admittedly one of their least favourite subjects. At least, Merlin considered, both of them disliked it. Merlin considered for a moment if he could perhaps ask one of his friends for their notes, or at least have a last minute study session. Astronomy was the one classes that all of the year had the exam for at the same time, so they would all be completing it later that night. If Merlin's suspicions were correct, Gwen and Lancelot would already have detailed depictions of every possible question that could be asked. Individually, naturally, because 'studying isn't studying if you just copy off someone else's work' as Gwen always said.

Merlin had to wonder at times how, if the stereotypes were so accurate, the two of them hadn't ended up in Ravenclaw. Or at least he did until he remembered all of the times when Lancelot had flown down from his usual Saturday flying session so that he could simply offer Merlin some company when he went down to sit in the Forest-side bay, despite the fact that Merlin knew there were few things that Lancelot loved more than flying. Or when Gwen, despite her misgivings and sighs of disapproval, would help him with his homework nonetheless. That sat with the Hufflepuff stereotypes of kindness and generosity so profoundly it was almost sad to witness.

 _Maybe I could ask Arthur,_ Merlin thought. _He's still at the stage where he's thankful enough for his broomstick that he might help._

Smirking to himself, Merlin shook his head. No, he didn't think he would do that. Arthur was indeed making an effort to be friendlier to him, as were some of his Gryffindor friends, with Leon De Grace as the most enthusiastic for some reason though Elyan, Gwen's brother, and the quieter Percival Legalois being kind enough. Merlin did suspect it had a fair amount to do with his birthday present to Arthur, but he had to admit that he doubted even Arthur would go to such an effort for such a simple reason. He'd already played – and won – the final quidditch match, so surely the reality and acceptance of the new broomstick had settled in. Arthur's attempts were, to Merlin's wary suspicions, for other reasons too.

Which was nice. He had admittedly been almost – no, not entirely, but just slightly – saddened at the prospect of not talking to Arthur again. He certainly was fun to tease, but outside of that he seemed remarkably deep-thinking and poignant at times. Merlin had long since formulated the speculation that Arthur would be the sort of friend that, should one really make their way into his confidence and slip beneath his blanket of consideration, they'd be hard pressed to find someone more steadfastly protective and determined to maintain that friendship.

Merlin didn't think he was quite there yet, but maybe some day. Not that he was actively seeking it or anything but… yes, maybe some day.

Freya had deliberately moved on to talking about the seemingly far-off beauty of the summer holidays, ignoring the topic of Astronomy entirely in a way that Merlin had recognised as being a coping mechanism of sorts for her in times of stress. They continued down the corridor with their fellow Slytherins and the Ravenclaws who had sat the test with them flowing around them. Freya stuttered to a stop, however, in both speech and step at the sight of Morgana as she turned the corner and headed towards them down the corridor.

Morgana surprisingly walked alongside Mordred. The fact was surprising only in that Merlin had so rarely seen Mordred in the midst of other people. They were talking quietly – or at least Morgana was talking and Mordred was staring up at her with apparent attentiveness, though Merlin suspected it to indicate at least a brief exchange of telepathy. He turned to Merlin as they approached one another, however, and his face settled into that faint, distant smile that it often did when he saw him, eyes fading from a brief sparking of gold as they were want to do.

Morgana lifted her attention a moment later and a smile of her own drew across her face. "Merlin. How are you? Have you just finished an exam?"

She paused, halting Mordred alongside her, as they reached within easy talking distance. As always, Morgana seemed perfectly capable of ignoring the curious, awed glances that turned her way as the other third years passed with wide eyes. Merlin was less capable of ignoring the similarly wide eyed yet more baffled glances that he himself acquired, even after being friends with Morgana for months now. He didn't need Mordred's telepathic ability to know what most of them were thinking, even after months of their strange friendship: why in the world would someone like Morgana Gorlois take a liking to someone like Merlin?

It was thoroughly awkward to be the focus of such stares. Merlin didn't think it was just because of his dislike of being the centre of attention that made him feel as such.

Striving to ignore his passing year mates, Merlin nodded. "Yeah. Herbology."

"Ah, the joys of annotated sketches," Morgana said a little wistfully, and Merlin wasn't entirely sure if she was being sarcastic or not. He wouldn't put it past her to actually enjoy it. "You put my teachings into practice, I hope?"

"Always," Merlin smiled. Then he glanced sidelong at Freya as she gently nudged him. An unobtrusive gesture and a wary sidelong glance at Morgana conveyed every unspoken word she may have wanted to say and he nodded as she picked up her heels and nearly ran in an effort to escape his company.

Or more correctly Morgana's company. For some reason, Freya didn't seem to like Morgana. Or – no, it wasn't dislike; she seemed intensely intimidated by her. As most people admittedly were, but in someone like Freya, that intimidation manifested itself in her rapid withdrawal from Morgana's company.

Merlin turned his attention back to Morgana as Freya and gradually the rest of the third years disappeared down the hallway. He felt a little guilty for not going with his friend but Morgana wasn't the sort of person to be left behind. "You've finished your exams, haven't you?"

Morgana nodded. "O. this year. They were a breeze." She sniffed, then turned her attention down towards Mordred. "Mordred has only just started his, though. Why the younger years have progressively later exams in the term I will never understand, but such is the way of it. We were just heading down to the library for some study if you cared to join us?"

"Study?" Merlin winced slightly. The past few weeks had been bad enough when it came to study. He swore that his hand would soon shrivel permanently into the twisted grip of a quill. "Do I have to?"

"You really don't have a choice," Morgana admitted, and in saying that stepped past him and continued down the corridor. Merlin knew he no choice but to follow; he hadn't tested it yet but he was fairly certain Morgana would just charm him to follow if he resisted.

Mordred cast a commiserating glance up at him as he fell into step at Merlin's side. "If it's any consolation, I didn't get a choice either," he murmured in his eternally hushed tone.

"Funnily enough, that doesn't actually make me feel all that much better," Merlin replied. "Though it does unite us against a common enemy. How are you going with your exams anyway, Mordred?"

Mordred only rolled his eyes, expressing nothing so much as sufferance for an unavoidable trial. He ignored the reproving glance Morgana gave him before she turned and glanced towards Merlin with a smile spreading dangerously across her face. "You think I'm the enemy?"

"Aren't you?" Merlin was merely repeated her words back to her, after all. She frequently took the stance of being a cruel, unyielding taskmistress, most commonly dubbing herself the cut-throat foe to poor studying habits.

"Just confirming your thoughts. I would have been dissatisfied had you considered me anything but. I am your mentor, after all."

"Much as I appreciate your help, Morgana, you really don't have to. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

"Than torture you both? Hardly. Besides, I'm simply adding more time to your return debt. This means that you have to show me more wandless magic."

Merlin shook his head. It had always baffled him the fact that Morgana just wanted to _watch_ him perform magic. She had only once attempted to do so herself, after which she had never done so again. Merlin suspected her reluctance had something to do with the fact that she hadn't managed the simple Levitation Charm the first time. For some reason, she never seemed to want help, despite Merlin's offer. Even if he had only offered the once; the flat stare she'd given him when he had effectively quelled contemplating future offers. "I was actually just going to study with my friends. Maybe pick Gwen's brain a bit."

"Yes, well, while Gwen's brain is likely the most delectable to pick – she is quite smart, that Hufflepuff girl; you've done well with claiming her – I'm not doing anything at the moment anyway." Ignoring Merlin mutters in rebuke of her reference to 'claiming' Gwen, she continued, glancing curiously towards him once more as they descended a stairwell. "Speaking of friends, how is Will?"

Merlin immediately felt his good-humour dampen. Not because of the question itself, for Morgana asked at least once a week after Will's wellbeing. It was more because of the development in that area than anything else.

Mordred, silently observing as ever, peered up at him with a slight frown. "Is your friend not well again?"

Shaking his head in denial of both the question and the immediate concern that arose on Morgana's face, Merlin attempted a smile. He feared he fell rather short. "No, he's fine. It's not that."

"But?" Morgana asked, pausing in step. She turned fully towards him, the concern only mounting on her face. For all of her supposed cold-heartedness, Morgana was as fiercely protective of her friends as Merlin was coming to understand Arthur was.

"Really, it's nothing all that bad, it's just…" He fought and failed to suppress a heavy sigh. "Will's moving towns. Him and his family, they've decided to leave Ealdor."

Morgana's expression immediately became sympathetic. "Oh. I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sure that will be hard for you."

Merlin shrugged with forced nonchalance. He didn't know why he bothered; he doubted either Morgana or Mordred were fooled by his attempt. "It's probably better for him. They finally worked out what they're going to do with Kanen and the rest of them."

Morgana's eyes flashed dangerously. They always did when mention of Kanen arose. She seemed to hate the boy that she couldn't possibly have met almost as intensely as Merlin did. "And what is that? Tell me they're cast down that annoying little peacock of a boy."

Merlin frowned for a moment. Peacock? What…? He disregarded the words a moment later, however. "Nothing. Practically nothing." Merlin fought to still the cold, rising fury of his magic that welled within him whenever he considered the injustice. It was a struggle. It simply wasn't _fair_. "They've been told off, forced to offer a formal apology, and suspended from practicing magic for a month each. And they have to face whatever punishment their parents choose to give them." He felt his hands ball into fists at his side and didn't even bother to try to loosen them.

Morgana's flashing anger shifted into disgust. "That's it?"

"That's it," Merlin nodded shortly. At least he was rewarded with the knowledge that he wasn't the only one who found it unjust.

Releasing a heavy breath that was almost a hiss itself, Morgana turned he head sharply to the side. Merlin could see the muscle in her jaw visibly clench and for a moment he feared she would crack her teeth for the audible grinding sound she was making. "I should do something."

"You can't do anything." Merlin sighed. In the face of Morgana's anger, anger that was so subtle yet still somehow overwhelming, his own seemed remarkably tame and easy to quell. "The mayor decided it, and he holds the authority. Besides, Will's leaving. It's not like they can do anything to him anymore." The pain that arose at his own words was not as easy to dispel. The thought of an Ealdor without Will… it made the upcoming summer seem far less bright.

"But what about you?" Morgana asked, turning back towards him with another sharp snap of her head.

"What about me?"

"What about when you go back to Ealdor? Don't try to fool me, Merlin. I'm not an idiot. I can't imagine this Kanen bastard was any kinder to you than he was to your friend."

Turning his gaze down to his hands as they took to fiddling with his sleeves rather than clenching, he shrugged. "He wasn't really a problem for me. Will was the one that never let things slide, so he got picked on more."

"Merlin." Morgana's tone was faintly warning.

Frowning at his fingers, Merlin shrugged. "It's only for the summer. Besides, it's not like there's all that much I can do about it. Mum says she can't leave Ealdor, so that's that."

"Why can't she leave Ealdor?"

Merlin shrugged once more. "I don't know. She just says she can't." Merlin had never really understood why. He'd never had the heart to keep asking after more the few times he'd mentioned it when his own discomfort at the incivility of the rest of the town's children had become particularly pronounced. Each time Hunith had fallen into stagnant muteness, an expression of longing and sorrow crossing her face. It was obviously for a very big reason, just as obvious as it was that Merlin's mother didn't wish to speak of that reason.

Morgana gave another frustrated hiss. "Alright, then. If that's how it's going to be, you'll just have to spend most of the summer at my house. I'm sure my father won't mind. He seems to quite like you – he's quite taken with your wandless magic, you know."

 _Like father like daughter,_ Merlin thought, a small smile actually growing upon his. Yes, Morgana's anger and discontent on his behalf actually did help to make him feel better. "I think Mum might have some objections to that."

"I don't care. I'll pack you in my trunk if I have to, Merlin," Morgana said, then turned and continued on down the corridor with a resolute stamp to her step. Merlin trailed after, exchanging a glance with Mordred. That of the younger boy seemed far too paternal for someone so small.

They continued down the hallways in silence but for Morgana's nearly audible mental grumbles. It was on the third floor that Merlin's headache returned with a vengeance, striking at him with a heavy-handed blow. He paused in step, wincing and squeezing his eyes closed as he drew a hand to his head. It wasn't painful exactly, but more as though his brain was being squeezed into a space far too small for it, like an extra presence had taken up residence in his skull. It was thoroughly uncomfortable, and surprisingly sharp in its appearance.

When he opened his eyes, dropping his hand, it was to see Morgana and Mordred both staring at him intently. Surprisingly, Morgana too had her fingers lifted delicately to her temple, a frown set upon her brow.

"You felt that too?" Mordred asked quietly, his gaze intense as Merlin glanced towards him.

"Felt it?"

"The magical whiplash," Morgana clarified. "At least, that's what I'm assuming it was. I've no other explanation for something that would induce such discomfort in myself and Mordred simultaneously. And you too, evidently."

Merlin frowned, lifting a hand to rub at his temple once more. The squeezing sensation was still there, still detectable if dwindled slightly, but no matter how he poked and prodded at it with his magical senses he couldn't seem to find anything familiar about its appearance. "I've never felt anything magical like that before. I thought it was just a headache."

"As did I," Morgana nodded. "Until Mordred appeared to feel the same at the same time as I did yesterday morning. It surely must be noteworthy should all three of us feel it."

"But only us three? No one else in my class seemed to feel it that I noticed."

"Maybe they're concealing it?" Morgana suggested. "Perhaps they think it just a headache, as I did."

"It's because they're not strong enough to feel it," Mordred murmured with such certainty that Merlin found himself blinking in surprise.

Morgana turned towards him, frowning. "What makes you say that?"

"The stronger you are in magic, the more sensitive to it you are, right? It would make sense that us three would be really sensitive to it, since we're probably some of the strongest students at the school. I'd guess if it was an even stronger blast of magic then more people would feel it."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably at Mordred's words, and not only because it was probably the longest reply he'd ever heard the quiet boy speak in one bout – Mordred did tend to speak more around Merlin given his inability to receive his telepathy, but not usually that much. It wasn't even because of his strangely wise description either, that he understood such a concept with an utter certainty that he seemed to lack in most other school subjects.

No, it was more the mention of magical strength that Merlin found disconcerting. It never used to concern him that much to speak of it, but that was before he'd come to school and the taboo had become more evident. Merlin had always been shunned of a sort in his hometown for his wandless magic, but for some reason that never really correlated to magical strength. Merlin hadn't had that much to consider about strength before, which was why when Morgana had first asked him of his own strength he had barely been fazed.

But like a topic once arisen and always present, it seemed as though he had merely been overlooking mention of it in the first months of his schooling experience. No one spoke of it deliberately, but there was a very obvious emphasis placed upon magical strength as a whole, just as much as there was upon Houses and blood purity. Though it seemed as strange to Merlin as did the other two subjects of consideration, he'd felt himself become caught up in it.

It didn't help that Kilgharrah's recent explanation had seemed to indicate that magical strength did indeed have at least a little bit of importance when it came to spell-casting competency.

Morgana's voice distracted him from his unease. She seemed only momentarily paused by Mordred's comment and recovered quickly enough. "Well, if that's the case, then certain others in the school should similarly feel it. We should ask. I know Arthur is about of equal capacity as I – and if either of you breathe a word of my admission of such, I have no qualms about enforcing my prefect rights and giving you both a detention." She held up a pointed finger towards first Merlin then Mordred. Merlin held up both hands in submission while Mordred only gave her a stare that very obviously said "and who would I tell, exactly?" "I'd like to work out what this is that keeps attacking my mind, if it's at all possible." The folding of her arms across her chest didn't bode well for whomever was responsible for her discomfort

A moment later, however, and Merlin was wincing and raising his hand to his head once more. Morgana actually flinched when she did the same and even Mordred briefly adopted a small frown. The squeezing sensation was more of an abusive contraction this time, as though even more magic was being forced into the assault.

When it subsided, Morgana had adopted a disgruntled but very determined expression. "Or, we could just look for the person who's using the magic ourselves. I personally have had enough of this."

"How exactly would we manage that?" Merlin asked. "I don't know how do find the source of magic like this."

"Yes, that may be a problem," Morgana muttered. "It seems to be coming from everywhere rather than a specific point. I'm not particularly practiced at assaults on the mind, regardless of my admittedly rudimentary learning in Legilimancy… Don't tell Arthur I said that, either."

"My lips are sealed," Merlin said, rubbing at his temple. He agreed with Morgana on this point at least. Now that he knew there was an actual cause for the headaches, he wanted to quash it. Not to mention that they had been niggling at him throughout the entire day; if anything, he suspected that they were getting more frequent, worse even. Whoever or whatever was producing the magic was being a right –

"I might be able to," Mordred murmured.

At once, Merlin's and Morgana's mutual attention spun towards him. "What?" Morgana asked, with as much eloquence as one could produce with the single word.

Mordred shrugged, and frowned briefly once more as another flicker of that squeezing magic arose. "I know mind magic. I might be able to find it if I concentrate."

"Is it even mind magic?" Merlin asked. He could admit he knew next to nothing of disciplines such as Occlumency, Legilimancy and telepathy. If Morgana considered her own knowledge minimalistic, his was effectively non-existent.

Mordred shrugged. "Don't know. But I can sort of feel the direction it's coming from."

"Perhaps that's part of your Gift, Mordred?" Morgana speculated, offering a faint smile. Mordred only shook his head, disregarding the supposition, and without another word set off at a quick pace as though they had already decided that such a course was the one they would take.

Merlin supposed, as he and Morgana hastened after him, that it probably had been. Even if it was only by Mordred who had decided it, they could hardly leave him to go himself.

It was one floor down and multiple corridors later that Merlin finally detected the magic as an actual point of focus. As they slowed in their step Merlin noticed detachedly that they approached Smith's office, the Muggle Studies professor's rooms distinctive for the welcome mat before the door and the electrical doorbell on the frame that he was reportedly endlessly attempting to make function through the disabling atmosphere of the school's magic. The door was just slightly ajar.

Merlin paused half a corridor away, hesitating even as Mordred and Morgana demonstrated no such hesitancy themselves. Morgana did notice his falling behind, however, and with a roll of her eyes turned back, snatched at his arm and dragged him after her towards the door.

The sound of voices could be heard as a muted mutter as they approached. Two voices, and it took Merlin a moment to identify them. He made to pull back and draw away from the door once more, but Morgana held him fast at her side, pressing her back against the wall and sliding up alongside Mordred as he edged close enough to peek through the opening of the door.

"We shouldn't be eavesdropping on professors," Merlin whispered, wincing at even the mention of their actions. "We'll get into trouble for that."

"Since when have you been so taken with school rules," Morgana whispered in reply. "Is Gwen's adherence rubbing off on you?"

"I don't intentionally try to break them. It just happens sometimes. And hardly ever, too. I haven't done anything even slightly wrong since my detentions with Seward."

"Well, in that case, you're more than due do a little rule-breaking." Morgana smirked, apparently satisfied by her own skewed logic. At Merlin's frown, she rolled her eyes once more. "Oh, for goodness sake, Merlin, you're with a prefect. The best of them, I might add. The professors are hardly going to accuse _me_ of untoward behaviour, so they won't to you either if you're with me."

"That doesn't make it any less wrong," Merlin muttered. He wished Morgana wasn't pushing the argument so forcibly. His own curiosity was egging him on, urging him to disregard his precautions despite his rational mind speaking otherwise. If she kept it up, Merlin knew he'd cave.

"Then in that case, consider yourself assigned a detention if you don't."

"Isn't that a little bit of a conflict of interests? Aren't you supposed to give detentions for people when they actually break the rules rather than when they try not to?"

Before Morgana could reply, Mordred broke into their whispered exchange with a waving flutter of his fingers and an expression that could not have spoken "shut up" any more perfectly had he said the words along with it. Merlin felt remarkably chastised despite his continued misgivings, and even Morgana silenced. The voices of the professors drifted from the room, words discernible in the silence Merlin and his friends fell into.

"… don't need the assistance, Tom. I'm asking because I thought you would be of a like-mindedness."

A sigh that Merlin recognised as coming from Professor Smith – he uttered the exact same sound when he received a deliberately foolish answer from a student – met the disgruntled words. "Why would you possibly think that I might share your sentiment, Aurel?"

 _I was right; it is Professor Tauren that he's talking to._ Merlin frowned as the Alchemy professor's voice continued sharply in reply.

"I can't be the only one who wants change, Tom. Surely I don't have to explain why. It's the same for you too, I'm sure! If you're denying it, then you're just deliberately averting your eyes from the obvious."

"What do you want from me, Aurel? You want me to nod obligingly, to express my similar sentiment when I feel no such frustration or objection for what you consider to be favouritism."

"How can you not? _How the bloody hell can you not?_ " Merlin started at the near shout. He was almost sure that anyone passing in an adjacent corridor would have heard and he abruptly glanced over his shoulder to check for potentially curious passers-by. Forget the professors deeply distracted in conversation, if anyone passed by and noticed Merlin, Morgana and Mordred in such a compromising position it would be impossible not to guess what they were doing. Merlin hadn't disliked his detention sessions with Seward, but he'd rather not be assigned another, if for no other reason than his mother had been none too happy about the first bout of them.

Tauren's continuation drew his attention back towards the professor's argument, however, if distractedly. "It's unjust, it's unfair, and something needs to be done about it. You know I've tried talking to Uther, but he'd like a boulder when it comes to shifting his weight around. He won't be shaken from this because to consider that halfbloods of Muggleborns should be treated as equals to purebloods would be effectively lowering his own station."

"He doesn't think like that," Smith replied. Merlin could hear the frown in his voice. "Uther is fair –"

"Oh, superficially, yes. Very fair. He hired you, of course, even with your Muggle father, and he hired me despite being Muggleborn. But that's not how he thinks. You know he doesn't think like that."

"You're only convinced of that because you sit at opposite sides of the table for most things, Tauren."

Merlin winced slightly at Smith's words; if there was ever a way to bait an angry dog…"Yes, and bias based on blood purity is one of them. Don't try and tell me that Muggleborns aren't treated differently at this school. Don't you try, Tom, because you know that's not true. Discrimination? Condescension? Disregard? It happens, and you know it."

Smith muttered something Merlin couldn't make out before replying loud enough to be heard. "My children have been treated well enough. Uther's own son considers them friends. How could you think -?"

"Yes, and it's only the happy coincidence that they did somehow become friends that they are treated so favourably."

"Watch yourself, Aurel. Arthur is a good lad; I won't have you tarnishing his name simply because of some perceived slight on your part."

"It's not perceived! How can you not -?"

Tauren cut himself off with a growl of frustration that could have come from the angry dog Merlin had previously considered him. A temporary silence fell between the professors at which time Merlin glanced nervously towards his friends. Morgana was frowning, a thoughtful frown but also becoming increasingly hard and cold, whereas Mordred had his eyes downcast, face so blank he was surely attempting to hide his thoughts.

Merlin understood. Understood in an observational way, at least. He knew that the issue of blood purity was as prominent yet unspoken of as that of magical strength, a pervasive presence that hadn't really made itself known but still tacked itself onto every exchange between students, between professors, that occurred. Merlin was only just becoming aware of it, with nothing quite so formal yet persistent ever existing in Ealdor. At least nothing to his knowledge. It was strange. And uncomfortable. And just a little bit stupid, he thought.

Tauren seemed to have blown his perspective out of proportion. Merlin had to agree with Smith in that regard at least – though the distinction might exist, he hadn't seen anything to credit the Alchemy professor's anger on the situation. Maybe it was different in the wider world, or even between professors, but discrimination? Not that Merlin had seen. He could only think that, as his fellow Slytherins had told him at the beginning of the year, Tauren was indeed put out by some grudge or other he had against Arthur and couldn't consider the situation with any particular objectivity.

Still, that didn't really ease the sting of his words, or of their suggestion. That much was evident from Morgana's and Mordred's expressions both, and from the tightening of discomfort in Merlin's gut.

When Smith spoke next, breaking the silence, his voice was as calm and composed as he so often was himself. "Even if I did agree with you, what would you choose to do about it? Use that?"

Merlin assumed he pointed at something but even leaning with tentative, straining curiosity to peer through the doorway revealed only the corner of a chair and the flat screen of what he recognised as being one of those Muggle televisions that Smith sometimes brought to their lessons. He ducked his head back as Tauren replied, shifting in his seat so that the corner of the chair Merlin had seen shuffled slightly further into view.

"If maybe I could convince him, could show him, that simply being Muggleborn is not a curse or a reasonable cause for inferiority then he would change his attitude."

"So what, you plan to intimidate him? You showed what you could do with that thing, Aurel. Don't try to convince me it could be used for anything _but_ intimidation. From what I felt, it at least doubled the amount of magic you could draw within yourself."

"At least," Tauren agreed. "But it's more than that. I shouldn't need the intimidation. Surely the existence of a Mage Stone, the stone that _I've_ created, _me_ , a Muggleborn, should be example of my competency enough?"

Morgana's gasp drew both Merlin's and Mordred's attention. Her eyes had blown wide, surprise darkening them with every rapid blink, and a hand cupped over her lips. Merlin raised a questioning eyebrow. _Mage Stone?_ He mouthed. Morgana only shook her head, waving her raised had at him to silence him and mouthing a " _Later"_ in reply. She leant eagerly towards the door and Merlin did the same, even as he felt himself nearly writhe beneath his rising foreboding.

"He doesn't think you're incompetent, Aurel. He wouldn't have hired you if he did. He obviously respects your abilities in Alchemy –"

"For fuck's sake, you know that's a crock of bullshit, Tom," Tauren exclaimed. Merlin started in synchrony with Mordred, and even Morgana flinched slightly. It was like seeing a fish out of water and capably walking to hear a teacher cuss. "The Department of Education demands only a maximum fifty per cent of staff to be purebloods. Uther has to hire some who aren't. I just got lucky that no other bloody purebloods are as good at Alchemy as I am."

"Yes, you _are_ ," Smith persisted. "But Uther recognises that too. Aurel, you're blinded by your past discord –"

"I'm not blinded!"

"Yes, you are. Think of this logically. Realistically, even. You show Uther the Mage Stone and then what? Demand formal recognition for your work? Then what?"

"Formal recognition would be better than the disregard he affords me now," Tauren replied venomously. "He barely speaks to me. I know you've noticed."

"He barely speaks to you because you deliberately avoid him. When was the last time you were even in the Great Hall together?"

"He's my employer. He should make more of an effort to see me outside of just a weekly staff meeting."

"Well, maybe you should make an effort to do the same, then."

"What, with him?" Tauren snorted. "Why should I bother?"

Merlin heard another frustrated sigh from Smith and could hardly blame him. He felt a similar frustration for the Alchemy professor, and was heartily glad that he had so little to do with him. He sounded prejudiced and overly opinionated, lacking in the ability to even attempt to see the situation from someone else's perspective as someone like Arthur did.

"Maybe you're right, though," Tauren murmured after a moment's pause in which Merlin could imagine Smith attempting to maintain a hold of his sanity in the face of Tauren's lack. The abrupt turnabout was surprising, at least until the professor continued. "Maybe just showing him won't work. Maybe I'll have to show him what I can _do_ with the stone."

"Aurel, don't."

"What?" Tauren asked, and from the abrupt mellowness of his tone Merlin thought he must have been distracted by this new possibility.

"Don't do anything foolish. Don't approach Uther aggressively. You know he responds poorly to anything head on."

"Oh, I know." Tauren's voice was suddenly sharp once more. "I know, Smith. I had to put up with his 'poor responses' all through school."

"I know you did," Smith sighed. Merlin shook his head at the resigned words. _Poor bloke. How did he manage to get landed with Tauren's complaining?_ "And I can understand how you might still be resentful for that –"

"Obviously not," Tauren interrupted him. "Obviously, or you would have agreed to accompany me when I confronted him."

There was an abrupt scraping, the sound of a chair being viciously shunted backwards, and Merlin barely had a moment to think _Oh shit, we're going to get sprung_ before he felt himself grabbed on the wrist and bodily dragged down the corridor. His feet nearly tangled, almost sliding from under him. Morgana – because of course it was Morgana – tugged him so swiftly that he doubted they would have moved any faster had she Side-Along Apparated them.

They just made it around the corner when there was a resounding bang of a door being flung against the inside of a wall. Tauren had evidently exited Smith's rooms in an explosive huff. His footfalls were as heavy and resounding as a troll's.

Morgana didn't pause as she drew them at a near run down the corridor. Her gaze as she glanced over her shoulder was hard and determined, without a hint of concern over the prospect that they would get caught eavesdropping. Her grip on his wrist – on Mordred's too, Merlin noticed – was almost painfully tight.

Merlin only had the chance to glance over his own shoulder and see Tauren turn into the corridor they hastened down yet start along the opposite direction in a billow of black robes as dark as his hair before Morgana dragged them down another adjacent hallway. He managed a sigh of relief as the sight of Tauren disappeared.

They didn't slow until a good three minutes or so of tugging on Morgana's part and stumbling on Merlin's and Mordred's. When they did, it was so suddenly that it was only the clutched support of the wall that enabled Merlin to maintain his footing.

When he turned towards Morgana, catching himself and his breath, it was to see her setting a brisk pace back and forth in front of him, her arms folded across her chest and brow crinkled in a frown. Merlin glanced towards Mordred at his side, but the younger boy merely shrugged one shoulder before turning his attention back to Morgana.

 _She actually looks more upset by what we overheard than I'd expected_ , Merlin thought. He didn't really understand why, but that much was evident. Oh, Tauren had been making claims against someone who Merlin knew she had been familiar with – and likely fond of – since a young age, but it sounded to him like nothing so much as a child throwing a tantrum over a past confrontation that had ended poorly for him. He didn't like what the professor had been saying about the pureblood attitude, the supposed discrimination against those with mixed blood, but that was merely running his tongue, wasn't it? Surely.

"Morgana, what is it?" Merlin finally asked when he gauged her pacing had gone on for long enough.

Morgana completed another two bypasses before pausing in step and lifting her gaze towards him. "We have to do something about this. Or at least I do."

Merlin stared at her blankly for a moment before the full weight of her words struck him. "Um… about what?"

"About Tauren. About his Mage Stone. Obviously it was that which was the source of the power that we've all been feeling these past days. Who knows what he'll manage to do with it."

"What can he do with it?" Merlin asked. "What even is a Mage Stone? I've never heard of one before."

Morgana gave a sigh that sounded to Merlin's ears more than a little frustrated. She tapped her foot for a moment, arms still folded, before she answered. "A Mage Stone is an artefact formed through Alchemy that is largely considered impossible to create. One hasn't been made for years. Centuries, even."

"What does it do?" Merlin thought he could hazard a fairly accurate guess from what little he'd heard but he asked anyway.

"It acts as a power source of sorts. No, that's not quite right." Morgana tapped her foot again in obvious agitation. "It sort of enables someone to draw more deeply upon their own magic than they otherwise could."

Merlin nodded slowly. He thought he could understand what Morgana was suggesting. It sounded oddly similar to the function of a wand as Kilgharrah had explained it to him. "And you think he's going to do something with his magic? To the headmaster?"

"You heard him, didn't you? And I know enough from my father about the discord between the two of them back in their school days." Morgana's lips thinned. "I don't believe Tauren is in the right in holding his grudge for so long but neither was he entirely guilty and deserving of Uther's attitude towards him."

"You don't think he'd actually hurt him, do you? I mean, he wouldn't actually try to attack him or anything?" Merlin frowned, concerned. Not for Pendragon so much as for what such an attack would do to Morgana. To Arthur. Arthur seemed to genuinely love, respect and look up to his father, even if Pendragon did appear to treat him unfairly in cases such as the detention when all Arthur had done was help Merlin. Given the fiery nature of his anger, Merlin could just about imagine the response Arthur would have to an attack to his father.

Merlin had a moment to reflect upon his thoughts, to feel surprised by his concern for someone who wasn't really even his friend, before Morgana was speaking once more. "I don't know if he'd hurt him. Possibly he'd challenge him to a duel, which is one of the most traditional means of intimidation between wizards and witches. But either way, Tauren would either win, thence holding one over on Uther and likely never letting him live it down, win and have his illegal use of a Mage Stone in a duel discovered, or he'd lose and his grudge would only grow." Her frown deepened. "In which case, I would expect him to act out in violence then if not before."

"Is that better or worse than him not challenging the headmaster in the first place?"

Morgana shook her head. "I don't know. Either way, I can't see this ending well for Tauren. He'll wind up fired if he goes through with it, at the least."

"And that would be… bad?" Merlin asked. He exchanged a glance with Mordred, who glanced towards Morgana for a second before rolling his eyes and turning back towards Merlin. He'd just opened his mouth to speak before Morgana cut him off.

"Of course it would be bad! That would mean we'd be bereft of an Alchemy professor for next year." Morgana sounded horrified at the prospect, even lowered her folded arms as the full weight of that horror seemed to sag her tall frame.

"I'm sure Pendragon would hire another one?" Merlin offered, knowing his words sounded more a question than a comforting statement but unable to speak otherwise in the face of Morgana's distress.

"Yes, but Tauren is _the best_ ," Morgana turned a hard frown upon Merlin that suggested he should have known better. "If he's going to get fired, the least he could do would be to wait until I've completed my studies."

Merlin stared at Morgana for a moment before a burst of laughter slipped from his lips. _Of course_ that was Morgana's reason; she made no attempts to hide that she was, innately, a self-serving person. Merlin should have predicted such a response rather than concern over the existence of what seemed to be at least a dubiously aligned magical artefact.

He wished he could withdraw his laughter a second later, however, when Morgana narrowed her eyes into a glare. It didn't help that Mordred actually appeared to be struggling with his own smirk for the first time that Merlin had ever witnessed. "Right. Yeah. Um… so what do you think we should do about it?" Merlin had a number of tentative solutions, telling another professor or even Pendragon himself being foremost amongst them, but he ceded Morgana's prior claim in the situation.

Morgana's scowl slowly lifted. "Well, obviously I'm going to have to go and steal his Mage Stone from him."

There was a pause, a static silence that rung in stunned incredulity along the corridor. Merlin didn't realise his mouth was hanging open until he finally uttered a startled reply. "W…what?"

"Obviously, that's the best solution."

"Your best solution is to steal an Alchemist's Mage Stone from him?" Merlin shook his head slowly. He didn't think that stealing any witch or wizard's property would endear him to them, certainly not one they had struggled to create themselves. But more than that, he was rendered stupefied by Morgana's statement. First eavesdropping on professors, and now this? Every time he learned something knew about her, every time Morgana disproved once more the image that the majority of the school held of her, he was confronted with even more confusion. How had she been made a prefect exactly?

Morgana was nodding. A frown had settled on her forehead once more. "Yes. Yes, I think that is the best solution. Steal it from him and hopefully try and destroy it somehow. Maybe intense heat? If I consider the properties of the stone itself…" Her murmuring trailed off and she was already turning back in the direction they had come.

"Wait. Wait, Morgana!" Merlin lurched forwards and reached up to grab her shoulder. She glanced at the hand holding her still as though wondering who would _dare_ to touch her before lifting her gaze quizzically to meet Merlin's.

"What?"

"Don't you think it might be a better idea to tell another professor or something?"

Morgana shook her head curtly. "Not at all. Then I'd have to tell them why I was concerned, and that would explain Tauren's subjective grudge, and it would likely still get him fired or some such."

"Then…" Merlin scrambled for another excuse. "Then I'll come with you."

The focused determination on Morgana's face cracked for a moment as she gave a small smile. "Thank you for the offer, Merlin. But I've got this handled." She gestured over his shoulder. "If you could take Mordred back to Ravenclaw tower, I would appreciate it. I think it best that this is dealt with promptly." Then, without another word, she flicked his hand from her shoulder and started down the corridor.

Merlin paused for a moment, watching her leave, before shaking himself from his immobility and starting after her. Only to be snagged to a stop when Mordred appeared at his side to dart out a hand and stop him mid step. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Just leave her to it," Mordred said quickly, that strangely paternal exasperation reaffixed upon his face. "She'll just hex you if you go after her when she's in a mood like this."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Are you speaking from experience?"

Mordred only shook his head, turning in the opposite direction and starting away from him. "Come on. Didn't you hear? You're on delivery duty. Ravenclaw tower."

Giving a single huff of laughter, Merlin shook his head and started after him. "Do you even need someone to walk you there."

"Not really. But it makes Morgana happy so whatever."

Shaking his head once more – he suspected as much it – Merlin cast one more glance over his shoulder in the direction Morgana had headed. She had already disappeared from the corridor with the speed of her step. Sighing, he followed in Mordred's wake. He could only hope that, somehow, Morgana didn't manage to get herself in trouble. If her past, glowing report as a 'model student' was anything to judge by, he doubted anyone could make a better attempt than she.


	17. A Niggling, An Ache

                                                                       

Merlin didn't see Morgana for the rest of that afternoon. His Astronomy exam came and went that night with his thoughts distracted by the antics of the Slytherin girl, and he sat in the common room until as late as possible the next morning with the hopes of catching her as she came from the girls dormitories. Just to see her, to make sure she hadn't landed herself in the crossfire. He waved Freya's suggestion to go down to breakfast aside with a light-hearted gesture and a nonchalant "I'm not really hungry, and I've got something to tell Morgana so I'll just wait up here". The mention of a potential Morgana confrontation sent Freya turning tail quickly enough.

But Morgana didn't pass through the common room. Whether Merlin had somehow missed her or she had chosen to forego breakfast entirely he wasn't sure, but he left the dungeons with a frown and headed straight to class. It wasn't much of a class anyway, what with the exams completed and the initiation of content that would be revised at the beginning of the following year filling the hours. Merlin found himself still frowning over Morgana's absence through each of his morning lessons. He was so lost in thought that he didn't even think to pick up his quill in Transfiguration until Freya nudged him into doing so. That was saying something, as it was usually Merlin urging Freya.

It wasn't until lunch that he actually saw her. Halfway through the break hour found Merlin picking through his meal and scanning with a deepening frown along the length of Slytherin table – and the other tables, too, because he wouldn't put it past Morgana to relocate for whatever flight of fancy had taken her. She hadn't, wasn't even next to Mordred who met Merlin's frown with a stare of his own that was so blank that Merlin suspected even he might have been feeling some inkling of concern.

When she did arrive, it was in typical Morgana fashion. She strode into the room in a gushing flurry of skirts that somehow looked both natural and graceful, gliding down the aisle between Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables as though skating on ice. It was impossible not to notice her, even through the scattering of students rising from their seats and making their way into and from the Hall. Merlin was standing before he realised it, and whether for seeing his movement or some other alerted sense, Morgana paused in step. She met his gaze for a second before, with that same elegance that otherwise discredited the strangeness of her behaviour, spun on her heel and swept back out of the room.

Merlin hastened to clamber over the back of his seat to the startled question of Freya on one side and a curse to "Watch yourself!" from Cornelius on his other and hastened after her. He caught a glimpse of Mordred similarly rising from his seat but didn't slow for him as he nearly ran to chase Morgana from the room.

He'd seen the look in her eyes. Barely noticeable but to one who was used to witnessing the crack in Morgana's usual composure. She looked frazzled, if such a state could even be assumed by Morgana.

She snagged his arm from out of nowhere as he stepped from the Great Hall, rapidly drawing him along the sidelong corridor. "Mordred's coming –" He began, but she cut him off in an instant.

"I'd guessed as much. Don't worry, he'll hear where we're going from my head." She didn't need to explain further; Merlin was more than accustomed to references to Mordred's telepathy these days, even if he didn't directly experience it for himself. In that moment, he didn't have the care to insist that they wait for the younger boy. Something was evidently wrong.

Morgana turned into the first door they came across, which happened to be a storeroom for unused desks stacked in a toweringly intricate maze throughout the room. She snapped the door closed behind them and turned to Merlin immediately, folding her arms.

 _Oh no. Crossed arms. This can't be good._ Merlin struggled to swallow back the observation that threatened to spill from his lips in favour of asking the more necessary question. "What happened? Where've you been?"

Morgana gave a sharp exhalation that held more than a hint of frustration. "Trying to get the Mage Stone, of course."

"Since last night?"

"It wasn't as easy as I'd thought it would be."

Merlin nodded. That at least he felt he could have anticipated. "Well, Tauren is a professor. And you said yourself that a Mage Stone is nearly impossible to make. I would have thought it was pretty obvious that he would have it guarded closely. He probably sleeps with it under his pillow."

Morgana's eyes narrowed, her crossed arms tightening as her lips thinned, and she didn't speak until Merlin muttered a sheepish "sorry". Then she gave another sigh and her disgruntlement – at least towards Merlin – seemed to fade just a little. "If only it were as simple as him sleeping with it under his pillow then I could have gotten it."

Merlin frowned. "How would you -? No, wait, I don't want to know, actually."

Morgana continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I went and saw him yesterday afternoon, just to feel him out."

"I really wish you'd used a different choice of words."

Morgana frowned this time, though there was a slight twitch to her lips. "Mind out of the gutter, Merlin."

"You were the one who started it, talking about looking in his bed for the –"

"I didn't say I was 'looking in his bed'. I said it would have been easier to find if he put it in such an obvious spot."

"So you _did_ check?"

"Of course, I – that's not the point, Merlin. You're getting side tracked –"

"You're both getting side tracked, seems like." Mordred stepped into the room, closing the door behind. As always, his hushed voice cut through their words like a knife. Merlin had to wonder how a boy of only eleven – or was he twelve now? – seemed to hold such maturity. Or at least he did sometimes. "What happened?"

Morgana shook herself from her faintly abashed silence. "I went to his office yesterday afternoon to waylay him in any possible attempts he might make to confront Uther. Then, when my staying in his office would have begun to look even more ridiculously excessive, I left and simply waited outside until he came out. When it was clear he wasn't going to speak to Uther last night, I came back to the dormitory."

"I didn't see you come back," Merlin said, frowning.

"Of course you didn't," Morgana waved a hand, disregarding his statement. "I didn't intend for you to. Anyway, this morning I woke up… perhaps a little later than I had intended, I went back to his office. I admit, I was near frantic when he wasn't inside, until a glimpse into his classroom showed that he was teaching a class."

"How surprising. A professor teaching his class," Mordred murmured. Merlin bit back a smile.

"So I went back to his rooms," Morgana continued with a silencing frown towards Mordred. "Everyone was in class, so I broke in –"

"You broke in? You mean you actually broke into Tauren's rooms?" Merlin shook his head, in a mixture of horror and incredulity. "I can't believe you did that."

"It wasn't actually that hard. Tauren had a variety of security and deterrent charms in place, but nothing of significant note. I disabled them easily enough."

"That wasn't what I was talking about. I meant I can't believe you actually broke into his office."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Of me? You can't believe I would?"

Merlin cast his eyes to the ceiling and heaved a sigh. "I'm beginning to doubt my first impression of you more and more, actually."

"Good," Morgana nodded. "Learning and revising your knowledge is one of the most important lessons you can learn."

"Can we save the tutoring session until later?"

"There's never a wrong time to teach, Merlin."

"You're getting distracted again," Mordred muttered, raising his eyebrows at the both of them.

Morgana ignored his words, even as she adhered to them as though she'd drawn her attention back to her retelling herself. "So I looked in his room – looked all morning, actually – for anything that vaguely resembled a Mage Stone. I felt for Privacy Charms, charms for deterrence, Disillusionment Charms, and picked through more boxes and cupboards than I care to recall." Her face scrunched slightly in distaste and at her sides she rubbed her fingers together as though ridding themselves of dust. "I couldn't find anything."

"He had it on him?" Merlin guessed.

"That's what I thought. And I was fully prepared to waylay him once more and attempt to steal it from his pocket somehow –"

"Like you could," Mordred muttered.

"- but before I could even leave his offices, Tauren came back."

At Merlin's and even Mordred's sharp inhalation, Morgana waved her hand once more. "I didn't get caught, so don't worry. I doubt Tauren would have noticed if a whole troupe of hippogriffs were dancing in his room. He was _frantic_ , muttering away to himself, and he started riffling through everything the second he stepped through the door. Books and parchments were flying everywhere.

"I was beneath a Disillusionment Charm myself so he slipped past me a couple of times close enough for me to hear what he way saying." Here, the slightly frazzled, slightly concerned tightness to her eyes returned and any light-heartedness Merlin had felt dissolved. "He was looking for the Mage Stone."

"You think he lost it?" Merlin asked.

Morgana shook her head. "I don't know if he 'lost' it. But he kept saying things like 'where is it' and 'it has to be here somewhere' when he was turning his room upside down. If he wasn't looking for that, then I think I'd almost be concerned as to what could possibly be of such concern for him that he would become so crazed in trying to find it."

"Maybe he has lost it?" Mordred suggested.

"I think that might be wishful thinking," Merlin said. He was starting to get a bad feeling about the situation – or at least worse than he had before – and was beginning to understand the cause of Morgana's returned concern.

Morgana nodded. "I think so too. I think that… I think we may not have been the only ones who realised Tauren had a Mage Stone."

"You think someone else somehow managed to steal it before you?"

Morgana met Merlin's eyes steadily at his words. "I… have my suspicions."

"Who?"

"Not those kind of suspicions."

Merlin found himself chewing his lip just short of painfully. This Mage Stone, it could apparently amplify the magical capacity of its user. That made it an incredibly powerful tool. Merlin didn't like to think it, didn't even know where the thought came from, but the whispered _"or a weapon"_ in the back of his mind seemed to echo ominously.

"I worry that someone else might have taken it for less correctional reasons as we might have," Morgana said, interrupting his thoughts. Merlin glanced up from where his gaze had fastened upon the floor to meet her eyes once more. He saw a reflection of his own thoughts playing subtly across her face.

Merlin swallowed tightly. "What should we do? This could be really bad."

"I don't know that there's all that much we can do. Not unless whoever took the Mage Stone decides to use it." She turned towards Mordred. "Unless you think you can find it again? Like you did yesterday?"

Mordred immediately shook his head. "It's not being used. Or if it is, it's not strong enough for me to locate it. I can't."

"Then that is our problem," Morgana sighed. "And we have the joyous responsibility of sitting and twiddling our thumbs, waiting for a potential magical explosion to occur."

Merlin shuddered slightly at the thought. If the discomfort he'd been feeling all week in the form of squeezing headaches was merely the result of Tauren dabbling with the Mage Stone without actually using it, he dreaded to think of what someone intentionally using it for a particular purpose, or even against someone else, could do. He didn't like to think that anyone in the school would act out aggressively or dangerously with their magic, but past experience suggested that hope was thin at best. Both in Hogwarts and Ealdor, the temptation to fiddle with magic – or worse, to use that magic against other people – was evidently too great.

"At least we only have a few more days left of term," Merlin said quietly.

Morgana nodded slowly, her face falling into a worried frown. "Yes. Although, at this stage I'm not certain if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

Merlin didn't reply. He wasn't too certain either.

* * *

 

Arthur rubbed at his head in an attempt to alleviate some of the ache that niggled at him incessantly. It was an ache that had been arising on and off for over a week, frustratingly throughout Arthur's entire exam period before barely a day of reprieve. And then it was back again.

 _Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I've been studying too much_. He was sorely looking forward to the summer holidays, even if he knew that a good portion of it would likely be spent at Hogwarts still with the headmaster ironing out the creases that arose in preparation for the next school year. Still, the chance to rest with a minimal amount of homework was a prospect Arthur was sorely looking forward to.

"You still got that headache, Arthur?" Percival asked from across the Gryffindor table, glancing up from in the act of drowning his dinner in gravy. At his side, Elyan watched the steadily occurring disaster of pooling sauce with an expression of mixed amusement and curiosity.

Arthur nodded, propping his elbows on the table in a fashion that would have made his father frown and pressing his fingers into his eyes until lights danced on the inside of his eyelids. He wasn't usually one to complain about something as trivial as a headache, but this was getting beyond a joke. It was annoying more than painful, and mostly because it repeatedly fluctuated between squeezing tightness too incessant to ignore and a gentle prodding almost as light as a tickle and just as annoying.

"Maybe you should go and see Livingstone," Leon suggested around a mouthful of potato. "Get an Invigoration Draught or a Vitamix or something."

Shaking his head, Arthur dropped his hands from his face. He blinked to clear his eyes and once more picked up his knife and fork. "No. It's fine. Hopefully it'll go away by the end of term."

"That's positive thinking for you." Leon nodded approvingly, spearing another potato. "I'm so excited for summer!"

"Why? What are you doing?" Elyan asked, finally drawing his gaze away from a abruptly disconsolate Percival as he contemplated the mess of his plate.

"Nothing. It's just summer."

"You'll probably end up lying around for the entire time like you do every weekend."

"I won't," Leon refuted. "Last summer I joined some of the Muggle kids that live around the corner for a game of football. You know what football is, right?"

"Of course," Elyan said, even as Arthur and Percival both replied, "No."

"Oh, well, then you'll definitely have to come with me some time," Leon smiled, ignoring Elyan's mutter of "that's fine, just ignore me next time, I don't mind". "It's really fun. It's all about kicking a ball around –"

"Kicking it? What, on the ground?" Percival asked.

"Yeah, on the ground. You kick it and try to score it in the other team's goal –"

"That's on the ground too?"

"Yeah, Perce, that's on the ground too. Muggle's can't _fly_." Leon chuckled a little condescendingly, as though fondly affectionate of Percival and his misguided ways. "It's a little bit like Smackdraft, except you use magic instead of Smacking Charms and each goal is only worth one point."

"Only one?" Arthur frowned. "Isn't that a little bit stupid? It would take such a long time to score points."

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter because both teams don't score that high." Leon glanced between Arthur and Percival as they regarded him with mutual scepticism. "It's fun, I swear."

"I'll come sometime –" Elyan offered.

"Thank you, Elyan."

"- if you promise to come over to my place in exchange." At the spluttering objection that Leon uttered, Elyan held up a hand. "You don't have to stay for long, but it would be nice if you could actually visit once in a while. I love Gwen, but even she can drive me up the walls after a while when it's just us two and my dad. Even worse when we're at Nan and Pop's."

"Do I have to?" Leon asked, just short of a whine.

"I feel like we should at least try to make the effort," Arthur sighed. Personally he didn't much like the Smith's house anymore than Leon did, but he could see a friend in need behind Elyan's casual request. Tom Smith was an avid Muggle Studier, even outside of his teaching profession. It was likely because of his Muggle paternity, Arthur suspected, and the fact that he'd married a Muggle. Because of that – either, both or all – Smith made a point of outfitting his family's home with as much Muggle technology, utensils, cultural fittings and icons as possible. It was like walking into another world whenever Arthur visited; a world that was as confusing as it was daunting. Metallic boxes beeped, there was a constant hum just audible in every room, lights flashed unexpectedly in reds and greens and yellow, and appliances sprung to life with the touch of a button.

The Wizarding world didn't have such things, which Arthur was sorely grateful for each time he left the welcoming yet intimidating comforts of the Smith House. Mostly because magic stunted technology, a fact that Smith was still attempting to remedy and meant that there was a strict 'no magic' policy under his roof. That was the most horrible part of it.

But if it would make Elyan happy…

"Thanks, Arthur," Elyan said, offering him the sort of smile that made Arthur's regret at his own words just slightly.

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't; I'd rather not be reminded."

To the sound of Leon's continued attempts to climb his way out of the deal that Arthur had signed him up for, Arthur fell back to eating his dinner. Only for his attention to be caught by the sight of Morgana as she entered the Great Hall in a sweep and made her way down the aisle alongside Slytherin table. Arthur wasn't one of the many who would ogle at her passage with something just short of hero worship but he couldn't help but notice her. Morgana _demanded_ notice.

She drew along the length of her House table further than she usually would and Arthur was only faintly surprised to see her stop beside Merlin and drop herself into a seat beside him. That surprise persisted only because it was largely considered strange to have inter-year friendship, rather than the fact that Morgana or Merlin would engage any such strangeness. They both certainly danced to their own tune, seeming to disregard what everyone else considered to be normal in sticking to their own year's cohort. Arthur had even noticed them both in the company of a Ravenclaw first year at several instances over the past few days. He wondered when that had happened, the strangeness not only for their mixed age groups but also the mixing of house members, and if it was a new occurrence or simply one he hadn't noticed until recently.

 _Well, I can hardly reprimand either of them for mixing between houses_ , he thought. _I do as much when I talk to Morgana, or to Gwen._

 _Or to Merlin_.

That last was an interaction that had only recently arisen too. One that Arthur had been awkward and in barely subdued denial about until the situation had eased from strange into… less strange. It had arisen for a number of reason, but Arthur knew himself well enough that it was primarily because of three: that he knew he still owed Merlin his cordiality for saving and assisting him with the siren and with Valiant respectively, that he was still grateful for the gift of his _Excalibur_ and…

And because, after their shared detention, Arthur had come to the realisation that Merlin wasn't quite as objectionable in company as he had previously thought. He still teased and insulted Arthur to a degree that Arthur had – thankfully – never experienced before, and he was still something of a disaster on two legs between his clumsiness, his mish-mash of academic knowledge and his apparent inability to ever close his mouth, but even so.

They'd spent not-quite time together, that much Arthur would admit. It wasn't a friendship really, their unfamiliarity impinging upon any inclination to seek one another's company in class to work together, or to walk side by side towards the Great Hall for dinner. But they conversed when in the same vicinity easily enough, and on the occasions when Gwen joined Arthur and his Gryffindor friends in the minutes before classes like Muggle Studies or before CMC, even in passing in the Entrance Hall, Merlin would just as often to participate in conversation as was Gwen, or Sefa Saffron, or Dulac. Definitely more than that Slytherin girl, Bast, who Arthur wasn't sure even _could_ speak. They must have made quite a scene, the group of them when they were all together.

And yes, Arthur would admit it. Even if he did find Merlin's jesting teases irritating or even insulting at times, they were also sort of, in some unexpected way, refreshing. Merlin seemed to lack a filter between his mind and his tongue, something that had initially annoyed Arthur to no end but he now found just a little bit interesting. Even more so when, despite his unfiltered blabbering, Arthur had noticed that Merlin very deliberately veered away from specific subjects more than superficially: home, his past, how he'd learned his magic and his homeschooling, or his full capacity of magic. Or why he had seen fit to help Arthur when they had admittedly butted heads for the first months of their aversive acquaintanceship. When Arthur considered the plethora of subjects Merlin _didn't_ talk about, he had to shake his head at the fact that the Slytherin boy still managed to speak so much.

Shaking his head as he watched Merlin and Morgana bow their heads together and whisper to one another, Arthur wondered if he was familiar enough with the other boy to ask what they talked about. It couldn't be good – Morgana never made 'friends' as such without the intention of gaining something from it – but Arthur wasn't sure if that would be just another one of those subjects that Merlin would shrug at, smile to and divert the conversation from.

He was remarkably good at that.

Arthur had shifted his attention momentarily towards Bast sitting upon the other side of Merlin – from the expression upon her face girl appeared terrified of Morgana, even with the barrier of Merlin between them – when the headache struck. It was fierce, not quite painful yet, but sharp enough to cause him to drop his fork in a clatter, smack a hand to his temple and squeeze his eyes shut briefly.

"Arthur? Hey, you okay?"

Arthur nodded. "I'm okay, Leon. I'm…" He trailed off as he opened his eyes and his gaze snagged upon the pair of Slytherins across the room. Merlin and Morgana, the two of them silenced in their conversation, and pressing hands to their own heads with winces of varying intensity. The stare fixed upon one another was entirely too knowing for Arthur's satisfaction.

He was on his feet before he realised what he was doing, stepping over the back of the bench and starting down the aisle to the startled exclamations of his friends. A glance showed Morgana start to her feet an instant later and in a stride that managed almost the speed of a run without appearing to, she hastened from the room with a very definite step. Arthur watched her go before glancing back to Merlin. _I'll ask him then._

He skirted the room in quick strides and in seconds was upon Merlin. He tapped his shoulder, startling Merlin into a jumping flinch in his seat as he whipped his head around. Blinking up at Arthur with wide eyes, he raised an eyebrow. "Arthur? What -?"

"What is it?"

For a moment Merlin stared in blank confusion. Arthur said no more, despite his incomprehension, and was rewarded when understanding dawned a moment later. Arthur glanced sidelong at Bast who, though she kept her head bowed over her dinner, he got the impression was listening with confused attentiveness.

Merlin bit his lip with a frown. "You mean…?" He raised a hand and scratched at the side of his head in what could have been a pointed gesture to the right eyes.

Arthur's eyes were certainly in the right. He nodded curtly. "What is it?"

Merlin opened his mouth as if to reply, then snapped it shut a moment later. He glanced sideways in both directions, his concerned frown deepening on his brow for a moment. Chewing more fiercely upon his bottom lip, he paused a moment longer before replying. "Perhaps we should… maybe take this out of the Great Hall?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, frowning himself. It was that secret? Something that concerning? Something that both Merlin and Morgana knew? He nodded slowly, half-turning in step. "Alright. Follow me. We can go –"

He was cut off an instant later when a lance of squeezing tightness _definitely_ painful struck through his head. Like a constricting noose, it tightened mercilessly. The sharpness was alleviated none by Arthur's fingers darting to his head, by the squeezing closed of his eyes.

And he wasn't the only one. Arthur realised only after he'd briefly recovered from the attack to the contents of his skull. Cries of distress, of pain and a touch of fear, rung through the great hall.

"Ah!"

"My head!"

"What the -?"

"What _is_ that?!"

Prying his eyes open, Arthur spun his squinting attention towards the head table. The professors were similarly debilitated, even the headmaster pressing fingers to his head with his jaw clenched so tightly that Arthur could see it, even from the distance of a hall's length. Questions and demands were flung between professors, just as queries and pleas were tossed by the students abruptly thrown into a mess of confusion and borderline fear. Someone at the Hufflepuff table even appeared to be crying, while most of the senior students turned towards their fellows and barked insistently for an explanation to the _pain, ache, squeeze_ that was attacking their communal minds.

Merlin's sudden start to his feet, more determined than the wavering motions of the surrounding students, drew Arthur's attention back towards him once more. That was when he noticed it, the now-familiar coldness radiating from him in icy waves. Merlin's cheeks were pale, eyes wide and face tight with strain as his fingers pressed to the side of his head. But that determination thrust aside his concern, the same determination that Arthur had seen before he'd stepped through the headmaster's Floo to Ealdor, when he'd demanded Arthur's attention to tell him about Valiant.

"Merlin, what -?"

But then Merlin was gone. Or at least going, and far more quickly than Arthur had thought him capable of. His long, lanky legs finally demonstrated their usefulness and almost before Arthur could respond had carried him the length of the Great Hall. He fled into the Entrance Hall and disappeared within seconds before the rest of the occupants of the room had a chance to gain their bearing, to decide whether to calm or to escalate the situation.

Arthur stared after him only briefly. The hand pressed against his temple rubbed unconsciously as he shook his head. What…? Where was he…? Why would he just leave like that? It didn't make any sense.

Until a thought occurred to him. _Unless he knows something. Unless he really does know what's causing these headache things._ Arthur glanced around the hall, gaze skimming over worried faces, fearful faces, angry faces, and all of them confused. Whatever it was, whether his headaches were linked to the ensuing, radiating attack on the school's collective minds, he didn't know. But Merlin apparently knew _some_ thing.

Arthur didn't think any further. He didn't pause to consider if it would be more appropriate to approach the headmaster, the professors, to question them. Hand still clutched to his head to hold the contents of his brains inside that must _surely_ be on the verge of draining out of his ears, he ran after Merlin.


	18. Le Morté

                                                                       

Merlin tore through the castle as fast as he could ever remember running. He didn't spare a thought to the possibility of tripping, of tumbling over his own feet, and blessedly he was spared the need to. His feet managed to maintain their stability and he scaled stairwells and raced down corridors without the need to focus on anything but the thin, wispy-white trail leading him onwards.

It was pure chance that it had worked. Pure chance and the fact that he knew Mordred had done something similar and so it _could_ be done. When the hall had erupted in distress, when the spike of pain had struck through Merlin's mind, he'd known he had to do something. He had to find whoever had the Mage Stone and make them stop whatever it was that they were doing, whatever it was that was using enough magic to be felt by every person in Hogwarts. For the first time, his concern and confusion as to the situation of the Alchemist's stone shifted into real understanding: this magical artefact could be dangerous. Could be and already threatened to a lesser degree.

The mixture of Kilgharrah's words and Mordred's success had suffused Merlin as he dove a phantom hand into the core of his magic, drawing it forth. With a gush of familiar coldness, the seeping chill that coursed through him, Merlin enforced his will without even considering if it _could_ work and simply Wanted. He Needed.

The white cord, the pathway of direction, had sprung forth with barely a moment of hesitation. Merlin didn't pause to try to understand how he'd done it, to explain what he was doing to anyone – not even to Arthur standing before him. He leapt up from the Slytherin table and chased the undulating path from the Great Hall.

Maybe he should have waited for Arthur. Maybe he should have told the professors. Maybe he should have even bypassed the Astronomy Tower where Morgana had been headed in search of Mordred to act as their scent hound after that first, sharper-than-normal squeeze to the mind. But he didn't. Merlin didn't wait. The demand of the throbbing in his head, of the whispered words of " _maybe it is really dangerous… really,_ really _dangerous",_ urged him onwards mindlessly.

He paused only for a brief moment at the base of the northern tower's stairwell. The stairs drew upwards in a spiralling climb, the wisp of nearly visible magic that lead him up the stairs trailing like impressed footprints into the stone steps. Merlin could hear nothing besides the thumping of his heart in his ears, the gasps of his breath. He didn't even know who to suspect was using the Mage Stone, or for what purpose. Tauren? Was it him? Had he found it and decided to do something drastic?

Climbing as fast as he could, Merlin kept his eyes trained upon the rolling line of magical guidance. He didn't know what he'd do when he reached the top of the tower – tell the magic-wielder to stop? Try to wrestle the Stone from whoever held it? He doubted he could do something like that – and still hadn't decided when he huffed the final few steps and found himself in the wide, circular room in which he had first met Mordred.

In Mordred's place was a girl.

She was kneeling on the floor with her back facing Merlin when he first entered. All he could see of her was the back of her dark head, hair tumbling and tangling between her shoulder blades in a scattering of small braids, and the pool of her school robes around her heels. They were trimmed in blue.

At his entrance, as though alerted by Merlin's largely silent step, the girl turned. Her thin face immediately paled, eyes widening and lips painted a red far too bright for her pallor popping open. In an instant she'd spun to her feet and lifted her wand towards Merlin.

He caught sight of what she had been leaning over as she took a step towards him. A ritual of some kind it looked like, chalk drawings scratched onto the stone of the tower floor surrounding runic inscriptions and all focused upon the centre of a vague circle. In the very centre of that circle sat a glowing golden stone smaller than Merlin's fisted hand.

"What are you doing?"

The words spilled from Merlin's mouth before he'd even considered them. The girl – she was a seventh year Ravenclaw, if Merlin wasn't mistaken from his hazy recollection – uttered a hiss that caused him to flinch. She straightened her spine, stretching to her full height that loomed nearly a head taller than Merlin himself. The combination of her growing presence, of that hiss… it barely seemed human. It was definitely angrier than her initial wary surprise had been.

" _Why is it always you?_ "

The girl jabbed her wand towards Merlin as though threatening to poke him with it rather than curse him. He took a flinching step backwards, hand immediately rising in a placating gesture. He could only be thankful that, for whatever reason, for the interruption or deliberate dampening, the squeezing pain on his mind had eased. Glancing between the girl and the gently glowing stone behind her, Merlin swallowed. "What do you mean?"

The girl hissed once more before she abruptly recomposed herself. Her expression fell into a hard, narrow-eyed mask. "Do you realise how long it took me to craft a potion to produce the exact outcome I desired. _Years_. It took me _years_. And then you went and wasted my efforts by having the headmaster install filtering systems upon everything that came out of the kitchens. Nothing other than that touched by the house elves cooking the meals, did you know? And house elves are known for being difficult to corrupt."

Merlin stared at her uncomprehending for a moment, gaze darting towards the wand held unwaveringly in her hand. A moment later, it clicked. "That was you? You were the one that poisoned the pumpkin juice?"

Narrowing her eyes further, the girl's lip curled just slightly. "That. That right there is the very reason it's so bloody hard to punish you for intercepting me. You didn't even know what you were doing."

Merlin's mind was briefly cast spinning. This girl – she was the one who had attempted to poison the entire school? She was the one who he'd encountered climbing from the kitchen, draped in a plain, unassuming glamor? It had been so long since the attempts at solving the mystery had been discarded that Merlin had almost forgotten about it entirely. Too much had happened since.

Staring at her, eyes widening, Merlin slowly shook his head. "Who are you?"

The girl's eyes narrowed to thin slits, the curl of her lip becoming a snarl. "Of course you wouldn't know. Of course you wouldn't recognise me –"

"No, I do," Merlin interrupted before he could help himself. "I mean, I recognise your face. I just don't know who you are."

The girl blinked for a moment, face blanking in surprise before she visibly forced herself to glare once more. "I wouldn't expect you to know, really. No one does. _No_ one." She flourished her wand slightly, causing Merlin to tense briefly before realising that she was not actually casting a spell. "I'm Nimueh, but I doubt even the professors really remember my name."

Merlin frowned, shifting cautiously away from the stairwell. This girl – Nimueh – hadn't cast anything at him yet but he wouldn't put it past her to try. She seemed to have become calmly angry after her initial startle, but that anger put him in mind of one whose calm could shatter into fiery rage in a bare moment. He'd seen it before; his mother had done similar on precious few occasions. "Nimueh…?" Merlin asked, trailing off expectantly. He didn't recognise the name, but then he'd always had difficulty discerning first names from surnames at Hogwarts.

The girl seemed to understand the meaning behind the question he didn't quite ask. The curl of her lips became a smile that was by no means amused. "Just Nimueh. I have no second name. Do you know why?"

Merlin slowly shook his head once more, shifting slightly in an attempt to move out of the mouth of the stairwell. He didn't quite understand why Nimeuh was talking to him, was answering his questions, but thought it best not to dispute the fact. She sounded the sort of person harbouring anger that begged to be unleashed, despite her superficial calm. If speaking could dampen that anger just a little bit then it would be a benefit. Maybe Merlin could even talk her out of… whatever she was using the Mage Stone for. It couldn't be anything good, not if it involved a ritual and the amount of magical power he'd felt.

"It's because I have no family," Nimueh continued. She gave a bark of sharp, harsh laughter that held as much amusement as her smile. "The moment my parent realised that the strangeness that had always surrounded me was _magic_ , the day I received my Hogwarts letter, they disowned me. 'A demon', they called me, and unnatural. A sin against God." Her expression because contemptuous, and Merlin had to wonder whether he actually saw the flicker of pain briefly tighten her eyes.

"I… I'm sorry?"

"No you're not," Nimueh hissed flatly. "You don't care. Why would you care? You don't know me. And even if you did, it's not like you can do anything about it. Anyone who could considers me better off without such parents."

"That doesn't sound very fair," Merlin said slowly. He'd managed to put the wall behind his back, though the slight trembling of Nimueh's wand hand vanquished the reassurance that the solidity provided. He could almost feel the temptation to throw a hex at him – at anyone – building within her. Her magic rose and fell like the tide, the deep blue-green of it brushing against Merlin's magical senses. Yes, she was very tempted.

"No. It doesn't really, does it? But no one seems to care about fairness when it comes to Muggleborns. Not really. Oh, they might preach it, but they don't' _really_ care."

Merlin paused in the act of attempting to slide further along the wall. His wariness morphed momentarily into surprise, then to confusion. Muggleborns. Again. Twice in a week he'd heard of the apparent injustice afflicted upon those of non-magical bloodlines, or even mixed bloodlines. Merlin hadn't known that such malice even existed. He hadn't seen hadn't _heard_. Had he really missed something so blatant?

"Pendragon, and all of the other professors. Do they…?" Merlin bit his lip, fingers tugging on the sleeves of his robes awkwardly before he forced the rest of his words out. "Do they shun you? Or… or, do they discriminate against you?"

The ugly expression that sketched briefly across Nimueh's face was all the answer he needed. "Don't act like you don't notice."

"No, but –" Merlin's teeth dug painfully into his lip but he barely spared it a thought. "I haven't seen anything like that. Surely I would have seen something."

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places," Nimueh suggested, regarding him with narrowed eyes once more. "Maybe you just don't see what you don't want to see." Then, without another word, as though discarding his presence entirely, Nimueh lowered her wand and dropped back to her knees beside her chalk drawings. She began scrawling once more, and Merlin winced as, with a pulse of the Mage Stone's golden glow, the ache in his head burst back into life.

"What are you doing?"

Nimueh didn't turn towards him as she continued to sketch. "It's none of your business."

"It is if it's going to hurt other people," Merlin said, taking a step towards her.

Like a hawk, Nimueh's eyes snapped towards him and froze him in place. "I'm only targeting those who deserve it."

"So everyone in the school deserves to be hurt?"

"Not everyone. Those like me, they'll be spared."

"So Muggleborns?"

Nimueh's lips curled once more, but she deliberately turned back to her drawings. "Try to interrupt me, and I'll curse you. I swear, Emrys, I will. I've waited too long for this, to receive some sort of justice, for you to charge through and destroy it. _This is my last chance_."

"You're going to curse them?" Merlin guessed, ignoring the use of his name, that she knew him. He didn't like to think what significance that held. "All of them? Even the people who haven't actually hurt you?"

"They hurt me just by enforcing to the hatred that the Wizarding world harbours for those with supposedly 'lesser' purity."

"No on _hates_ Muggleborns," Merlin objected. His had risen without his notice to press against his temple. The squeezing sensation had moved past the thin boundary of pain now and only seemed to be growing. "No one I know hates them."

"And I tell you, you're obviously not looking hard enough." Nimueh punctuated her words with a fierce slash of her chalk, crossing off another runic inscription. A sharp spike of pain stabbed through Merlin's mind once more.

 _Magic. She must be using a lot of magic to make it feel like_ that. He hated to think what kind of curse would involve that much force. It could hurt people. It _would_ hurt people.

Just like that, with just that thought, Merlin decided. He hadn't even known he was struggling with a decision until he made it. Regardless of Nimueh's reasoning, regardless of the wrongs she'd perceived afflicted upon her, real or imagined, to curse the entire school was _wrong_. Merlin couldn't allow it.

His hand was rising before he told it to, fingers falling from his temple and reaching towards the Mage Stone. Drawing upon his magic, Merlin snatched at it with the pure Movement Magic that had always come so naturally, so wordlessly and wandlessly to him in the past. The golden stone trembled for a moment, then it sprung through the air towards him like a fired spell. Merlin snatched it and clutched it to his chest the second the smooth, throbbing warmth touched his fingers.

Nimueh was on her feet in a second. Her wand was raised and pointed a second later, two steps taken towards him immediately following. Merlin couldn't help but shrink from the sheer, radiating anger of her presence, the crashing of waves that swept around her. "Give that to me. Now."

"It's not yours," Merlin replied, his voice surprisingly strong considering his wariness bordered on fear. Probably was fear, actually.

"It's not yours either. And I'm _using it_."

"You're not using it right," Merlin insisted. "Magic shouldn't be used to hurt people."

Nimueh gave a mirthless chuckle, surprisingly and disconcertingly light considering the tension rippling through her frame. She took another step towards Merlin across the circular room, her wand twitching as Merlin took a step away in turn. "Funny you should think that, when so many curses and charms exist to do just that."

"That's the people who cast them that's hurtful, though, not the magic itself."

Nimueh cocked her head, regarding Merlin through eyes thinned to slits. "Then it would be a sort of justice, as it were, to use that very magic to punish those wayward casters." She slid yet another step towards Merlin. "Unfortunately for you, you appear to have become one such person."

Merlin didn't get a chance to reply. He didn't even get a chance to think of a reply. With a flick of Nimueh's wand, a wordless lance of barely visible yellow light sprung towards him. It struck him fully in the chest, bodily throwing him from his feet to crash against the wall behind him.

The air rushed from Merlin's lungs. It was a miracle that he managed to keep a hold of the Mage Stone at all. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, just in time to see Nimueh striding across the short distance between them. Her wand rose once more.

Merlin reacted before he could consider the morality of his actions. Lifting a hand of his own, he cried _"Depulso!_ " and unleashed a beam of magic in the form of a Banishing Spell towards Nimueh. She evidently hadn't been expecting him to fight back, for it struck her in the chest, throwing her just as she had launched Merlin seconds before. The smack of her back against the opposite wall was loud enough, sounded painful enough, that Merlin winced.

Only for a second, though. He knew he had to act quickly, to do _some_ thing. Fleeing didn't look like a viable option; Nimueh was struggling to right herself barely a meter from the stairwell and effectively blocking the only escape route. Merlin's eyes dropped instead to the golden stone clasped in his fingers and the alternative presented itself.

He could destroy it. If Nimueh needed it for her curse, he could remove it from the equation and be rid of two threats in one blow.

Heaving himself onto his knees, even as Nimueh clambered to her feet, he cupped his hands around the stone and focused his magic upon it. What Morgana had said, her words of but days before, sprung to mind to ring in his ears. _Intense heat…_

With a thrust of his icy magic, Merlin turned his attention fully, fiercely, upon the stone. _"Incendio._ "

Nimueh's cry, her wail, of "No!" sounded a split second before the fire exploded from between Merlin's fingers. It struck the Stone and the blast of magic, of destruction radiating from it, hit Merlin full force.

Two things happened at once. The Mage Stone absorbed the heat. It sucked it in and glowed blindingly bright for a moment. Then, with a shriek of splitting crystal, it exploded. Shards burst in every direction, most slashing viciously at Merlin's hands before rebounding, firing in a steaming, scattering mess to clatter through his flinching fingers. Merlin barely felt it.

At the same time, Nimueh launched herself towards him, crossing half the space in a bare second. Her face was twisted in rage, in desperation, lined in just a hint of despair. Merlin reacted instinctively to her headlong charge. With a propulsion of magic, of the silent magic that came so easily to him, he pushed her _away_.

She flew away. Far away. Nimueh was flung across the room once more with a shrieking cry. She hit the top of the stairwell, slid for a bare moment, and tumbled head over heels. She fell down. She vanished from Merlin's sight.

The sounds were horrifying. Her shrieks cut off after three thumps, replaced by more distant thumps, by grunts of forcibly expelled air, by the ear-aching snap of bone and crack of skull on stone. Merlin stared, frozen at the absence of the girl who he'd accidently flung from the room.

He stared. And he stared. And he listened. Silence had never felt louder in his ears.

Slowly, on legs trembling from more than the smack of impact he'd taken from the wall, Merlin rose to his feet. He was aware distantly that his hands were bleeding, that they throbbed painfully even as he knew that the force aching in his head had disappeared. He barely noticed. In slow, wobbling steps, Merlin tottered towards the stairwell. His mind was blank, numb with the weight of what had happened, of what he'd accidentally done. Only for a moment though before he nearly flew down the stairs with the speed of his descent. He didn't spare a second to glance at the broken fragments that were all that remained of the Mage Stone.

The first spot of blood on the stone steps stumbled Merlin to pause for a brief second. Nausea broke through the numbness of his mind and he had to swallow to hold back an upwelling of bile rising in his gorge. Blood didn't faze him, never had. Except for _this_ blood.

He didn't stop for the next spot of blood, or the next, or for the smear that coated an entire step three quarters of the way down the tower. Merlin was fighting to keep from emptying his belly down the stairwell when he finally reached the stumbled down the last steps, clinging to the wall. And when he did, there was no stopping the heaves and retching that he spewed at his feet.

The taste of acid, the smell of vomit and the rawness of his throat assaulted Merlin as he wiped a shaky hand across his lips and turned slowly back towards the broken form of Nimueh. She was shattered, like a ragdoll carelessly discarded. Her limbs were twisted at unnatural angles and in more than one Merlin could make out slowly pulsing blood pumping through the whiteness of her knee-high socks, further darkening the sleeves of her robs. A kneecap was spun sideways, distending her leg at a horrifyingly comical angle, and the fingers of one splayed hand were crushed as though each had been bent backwards. Merlin could see bone.

And worst of all, she didn't seem to be breathing.

Merlin couldn't see her face. The girl lay face down, her robe blanketing her in a skewed heap and tangles of braided hair falling around the paleness of her face. He didn't want to look. He wanted nothing more than to flee, to be _away-away-AWAY_ from the sight of what he had caused through a careless, frantic cast of his magic. But he couldn't. Merlin couldn't just leave her. She wasn't breathing, Merlin didn't _think_ she was breathing. What if… what if she…?

Stumbling forwards, he fell to the floor at her side, knees jarring painfully. Merlin barely noticed. With a visibly trembling hand, he reached forwards and parted the curtain of her hair. His eyes closed tightly an instant later.

The girl stared blankly at the floor, forehead down and eyes wide and unblinking. It wasn't that which was the worst, however. It was the coating of blood streaking her pale cheeks, still wet and glistening a red deeper, darker, more ominous than her painted lips. It was the whiteness of bone visible through the gash on the side of her forehead, starkly apparent in the sea of scarlet. The glimpse of the girl's profile swum before Merlin's closed eyes, already haunting him but seconds after he'd seen it.

 _"_ I'm sorry," Merlin croaked. He wasn't sure if he even managed to produce a sound, if his words were audible. The repeated mantra of _I did this, I did this, I'm so sorry I did this_ chanted in his mind and for a moment he feared he would lose what little remained in his stomach in a heaving retch once more.

He shouldn't have done it. The girl's wouldn't have hurt him – surely she wouldn't have really hurt him. And the curse? She couldn't have, wouldn't have attempted something truly terrible. Would she? No, she _wouldn't_. But Merlin had reacted instinctively to her charging attack, had pried the Mage Stone from her possession and cast her aside in an act that had killed her.

Killed her. Merlin had killed the girl.

 _I killed someone_.

It was that more than anything that spurred Merlin into frantic action. The repulsion, the _horror_ , of ending someone's life… Merlin had never intentionally killed something before, not even an insect, and where accidents had occurred they had been barely noticed. But this – Merlin had _killed someone_. In that moment it didn't matter that it had been an accident. It didn't matter that he'd done it in self-defence, or to defend the rest of the school.

Merlin had to fix it. And there was only one way he knew of that could do that.

Reaching forwards, he placed one hand on the back of the girl's downturned head and the other between her shoulder blades. She was still warm, but somehow that fact only make Merlin feel more wretched. Taking a deep breath, he closed his blurring eyes and dove down into his magic. Dove deeply, deeper than usual, deeper than he ever had except for those precious few occasions.

With Will.

With the unicorn.

With the old man Mr Poppywit who had fallen under the weight of Dragonfever last winter.

With Zee as he and Will had found her small and broken in his front garden once morning.

Merlin drew upon his Gift and the ice-demon of Necromancy flooded forth, snapping and straining against the bit with the need to be let loose. Merlin let it fly.

It was a horrible experience. Even having used it before, Merlin was still surprised by how horrible, how wrong it felt. He felt himself suffuse with cold, a bone-deep chill that was entirely different to the fluffy breeze of his normal magic, even the sharp blizzard that at times arose on the heels of his anger. The Necromancy demon was cold incarnate, the cold of death, of silence and stillness and absence. It was a void that wanted more, that begged to be used, to spread the tendrils of its power and seep into dead matter. To revive, even as the demon itself was death. That was what Necromancy was. Merlin knew this. He knew it innately. He used it anyway.

Absolute cold rippled from him freezing him to his bones. Merlin detachedly felt the ground beneath his knees encrust with ice. He could feel the air shrouding him decline in a rapid fall in temperature, could feel the warmth of his breath strike the abruptly cold interior of the tower's ground floor in a clash that he knew would manifest as a white cloud of his breath. A shiver shuddered across his skin, tightening his muscles and nearly freezing him alive.

And beneath his fingers, Merlin felt the girl. He felt her as he cast his Gift into her and coaxed her back to life. It was always a coaxing, like baiting a wary animal from the darkness of its hole. The hole itself was black, bottomless, pitiless, and it sucked and wanted and ached for more than even Merlin's Necromancy did. It was a matter of will to force that darkness to give back what it had taken, what it coveted so greedily.

He felt her return. He felt it slowly, seeping back into her body in tandem with the easing of the cold that surrounded him. Merlin hoped, and he pleaded, he coaxed and then he dragged. He would bring back the girl that he had killed, he would revive her, even if she was angry, even if she was confused or hurt or struck out in a fit of violence once more.

 _I'll just have to stop her. I'll just have to stop her from being how she was_.

Something in his consciousness, some innate warning, fluttered into existence at the passing thought, but it dissipated a moment later as Merlin's attention snapped back to the girl. To the breath that suddenly inflated Nimueh's chest, that stuttered for a moment before easing. Then she gave another. And another. She uttered a small, pitiful little moan, muffled by the press of her face to the stone floor.

Merlin lifted his hands from her immediately. He had to act fast, he knew, or the Necromancy he'd conducted would be put to waste. His Gift restored life into a dead body, but it didn't heal the injuries that induced its death. That would be left up to Merlin, and acted with the strongest healing spell he'd learnt from his mother. _"Regeneratus_."

It wasn't much. It wasn't specific, was a generalised healing spell, but it should do. As Merlin watched, his hands stretched forwards with one to lift Nimueh's hair and the other to hover above the gash on her head, the damage that had killed her rapidly began to reverse itself.

Releasing a sigh, Merlin fell backwards onto his heels. Abruptly, a wave of exhaustion, exhaustion he hadn't allowed himself to feel yet, crashed upon him, both from the Necromancy and the additional weight of the healing. His familiar magic withdrew its comforting coolness, soothing after the aching chill of the Necromancy, and coiled within him, returning to attentive dormancy. With its absence, Merlin's shoulders sagged and he nearly slumped to the ground, even as Nimueh shifted slightly with what appeared to be an attempt to raise herself from her collapse. She didn't, of course. She wasn't completely fixed, and the second pitiful whimper as she attempted to use her mangled hand to prop herself up proved that.

"I'll fix them," he murmured, his voice hoarse and speaking more to himself than to Nimueh. "Give me a minute, and I'll try to fix them. Or… or I'll take you to Gaius. He could do it in a second."

At the sound of his voice, Nimueh halted in her attempts to raise herself. Slowly, with a discomforting scrape of skin on stone, she turned her head sideways. With wide eyes – a deep blue, Merlin noticed detachedly – she gazed up at him through the tresses of her parting hair.

The instant Merlin met her gaze he knew something was wrong. He knew it, knew with utter certainty even if he didn't know exactly what it was. That knowledge was only validated when a moment later a blissful smile spread across Nimueh's face. It was innocent, pure, the smile of a child and filled with baseless delight. The expression was entirely different to what Merlin had seen of the girl already.

He found himself withdrawing, leaning away from the sight even as his body protested the very act of moving in the slightest. Nimueh's smile didn't falter. If anything it only grew wider. Swallowing, biting back the return of fear that rapidly built within him, Merlin struggled to speak. "Are you alright?"

Nimueh blinked at him dazedly. It was the sort of response of one who hadn't quite heard his words, who had been too deeply engrossed by what they were seeing, in what they were thinking, to really respond properly. Then Nimueh's smile stretched even wider so that her eyes crinkled and her cheeks bunched. That in itself, the pure delight, was dreadful to behold with the mess of blood streaking her face, the disaster of her twisted limbs.

"Hello," she said, her tone light, far removed from what it had been but minutes before in the tower above. She seemed almost like a different person, as though any of the anger, the hatred, the vengeful resentment, had faded from her entirely.

It slowly dawned. Slowly, and then rapidly when understanding clicked into place. Merlin realised with a tightening in his gut the weight of the thought that had passed so briefly across the forefront of his mind when he had drawn Nimueh back to life. _I'll just have to stop her from being how she was_ …

What she was… had Merlin… had he changed her?

That was the only explanation he could think of, the only conclusion he could deduce in that moment as he stared at the beatifically smiling seventh year girl, flinching slightly as she gave a little giggle that was only stifled by another whimper as the movement evidently triggered pain. But she didn't stop smiling. And worse still, when she spoke next it was to utter the heartbreaking words of, "Who are you? I _like_ you".

Merlin thought her smile was perhaps even more haunting than had been the bloody mess of her face been.

_This. This is the reason why Necromancy is a Dark Gift. Or at least one of the reasons._

It was what Will didn't understand when he preached that Merlin's Gift was good, that it 'wasn't evil' because of how it had saved him. Merlin might not have known of this ability expressly, may have simply been basing his opinion upon the existence of Inferi, upon the tortured souls of ghosts that he had only truly begun to realise the despondency of their souls upon entering Hogwarts. Death shouldn't be tampered with, and though Merlin couldn't bring himself to regret for a second, coaxing Will back to life not once but twice, couldn't regret reviving Zee, or the unicorn, or Mr Poppywit year before, he knew it was wrong.

This Gift. It shouldn't have been Gifted at all. And now…

Merlin blinked the blurriness from his eyes, the image of Nimueh fuzzing into visibility as she tried and failed once more to push herself to sitting. It was a horrible sight, for with each attempt she would utter a cry of pain, only to follow it with a broken, gasping giggle as she slumped back to the floor.

Merlin closed his eyes. He couldn't watch anymore. He couldn't watch the girl he'd brought back to life as she showed him, again and again through the childish insanity that tossed mirth against pain, the error he had made with the strength of a mere passing thought.

_This. This is so wrong._

_What have I done?_

* * *

 

Arthur heaved a gushing sigh of relief when he arrived at the base of the northern tower and saw Merlin. He'd been running around the whole school like an idiot and cursing the fact that a targeted Following Charm hadn't been taught to his year yet. It felt like he'd been searching for hours, and the heaviness of his breath did nothing to dissuade him from the assumption. Regardless of the absence of the ache to his head, the pain that had quelled, then risen, then died completely once more, he had questions that he wanted answered.

That relief quickly dissipated as he took in the scene, however. Of Merlin curled with his back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees and head tucked, hiding his face. And the girl. The girl that sat next two him and smiled at Arthur's approach in a disconcertingly jovial greeting.

She looked a mess, her robes falling from her shoulders and tangled at her elbows, her hair tugging from its ties and wafting around her face like wispy cobwebs. And the blood. There was blood smeared across most of her face, wrapped like a glove around one of her hands, staining her socks and the white shirt visible from beneath the slipping school robes. Arthur could only stare for the sheer amount of blood that she wore like a second uniform.

The girl – she was a Ravenclaw from her robes, older than him but otherwise unfamiliar – hardly seemed to notice.

Glancing towards Merlin who didn't even seem aware of his arrival, Arthur skirted around the Ravenclaw with a wide berth before dropping to a crouch beside him. "Merlin? Merlin, what happened? Are you alright?"

Merlin flinched at his words, shoulders hunching slightly and shrinking briefly further into himself before he lifted his chin. When Arthur met his gaze, it was to frown with sudden concern, for though he lacked the blood that streaked across the girl's, his expression was even more twisted.

Arthur wondered that so quickly Merlin could have become haggard in barely an hour. His eyes seemed to have hollowed, darkened and growing haunted, and there was a hint of shadows beneath them that suggested he hadn't been getting enough sleep. His cheeks were so pale that Arthur considered they looked almost transparent. He glanced up at Arthur's face for a bare second before dropping his gaze towards his hands tightening around his knees. They trembled slightly. Merlin was taller than Arthur, but in that moment he'd never seen him look so small.

Lowering himself down onto his knees beside him, Arthur stared at him for long enough to discern that Merlin wasn't going to reply. _At least he doesn't appear injured. Not like…_ His gaze turned towards the Ravenclaw girl. Still sitting silently, still smiling at him. No; smiling at Merlin, Arthur noticed. The difference was very distinct. Her unwavering expression was thoroughly disconcerting.

"Is she alright? She's bleeding. Merlin." Arthur glanced back towards him. "Do you know what happened? Did she hurt herself? Why is she -?"

"She's Healed," Merlin murmured. "Now. I Healed her."

Arthur would have given a sigh of relief had not Merlin's choked voice, the redoubled haunted cast to his glance momentarily sidelong towards the girl. It only provoked his concern further, a concern that Arthur had admittedly never really felt for Merlin. He glanced briefly back towards the Ravenclaw; there was indeed a lot of blood, but she didn't appear in pain. There was just… a lot of blood. Blood that, he noticed, spotted the floor and led like a broken footpath in decreasing amounts towards and up the stairwell. As though…

Arthur turned slowly back towards Merlin. All thought of that strange, fierce headache, whatever it had been, flew from his thoughts as the gravity of the situation dawned upon him. "What happened? On the stairs, did she…?" He could only gesture towards the girl, though quickly dropped his hand as Merlin followed that gesture and quickly squeezed his eyes together. His trembling grew more pronounced. "Merlin, what happened?"

A small sob, barely audible but apparent for the violent flinch that wracked through him, sprung from Merlin. He gave a pitiful whining sound, shrinking into himself only further and chin tucking tightly to his chest once more. Arthur was put in mind of a dog withdrawing from the savage kick of its hateful master. He couldn't help but edge towards Merlin, ease himself into a sitting position beside him and gently, hesitantly, touch his arm. They weren't close, not at all, but Merlin was obviously distressed. "Merlin?"

Slowly, as though with a physical struggle, Merlin peeled his eyes open and turned his gaze towards Arthur. A gaze that, dammit, looked to be on the verge of tears, barely restrained, and Arthur _couldn't handle tears_. He swallowed tightly and steeled himself, shoving back the urge to offer feeble words of comfort or suggestion or even scolding as Merlin spoke.

"I didn't mean to," he whispered. Even his whisper wavered. "It was an accident, I didn't – I didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to what?"

Merlin glanced briefly towards the Ravenclaw girl, his expression only seeming to grow more horrified as her smile widened at his brief attention. "Down the… I- I pushed her down the stairs."

Arthur stared at Merlin as he abruptly squeezed his eyes shut once more. His hands drew back from his knees and pressed across his mouth in an attempt to silence the sounds bubbling from his lips, but they could do nothing to still the sobs that shook his frame. It was a pitiful, heart-wrenching display, mostly because it appeared so utterly and remorsefully sincere. Arthur was left more confused than accusatory and struggling with the urge to _do_ something. What? He'd pushed the girl down the stairs? Merlin, who seemed as incapable of violence as a Flobberworm? But… "Why? Why did you do that?"

Merlin shook his head, and when he spoke it was with a garbled mumble through his fingers. "I didn't mean to. I didn't, I swear I didn't mean to hurt her. She started running at me, and I pushed her away but then she did it again and I- I knew I had to stop her because she would – she would _hurt_ everyone, but I just reached out and – and I –"

"Wait, slow down." Arthur finally fell prey to the urge to drop a hand to Merlin's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "What do you mean she was going to hurt everyone?"

Merlin sobs paused momentarily. Or at least they slowed to hiccups. He opened his eyes to peer at Arthur, his hands lowering just slightly. "She was… I… she was the one who was giving us the headaches. And then to everyone. She was going to…" He trailed off but Arthur supplied the answer from his previous words. _Hurt everyone. She was going to hurt everyone? Why? What possible reason could the girl have to do that?_

"It wasn't your fault, Merlin," Arthur found himself saying, and his hand squeezed once more on Merlin's shoulder. He didn't know where the urge to comfort the other boy came from, whether it was simply the surfacing of tears or something else. Amicable they may have become since their shared detention but they were hardly close enough for such an exchange. But then… Arthur just felt the need. The responsibility as well as the want. Just as he did to reassure with words. "If she was doing something, using magic or an enchantment or something against other people to try to hurt them, and then, what, she tried to attack you?" Arthur shook his head. "You weren't in the wrong. If anyone is it's her, but then she seems to be…"

Their gazes drew simultaneously once more towards the girl. She still smiled, seemingly deaf to the words that Arthur and Merlin had exchanged, as though she didn't understand. She hardly seemed the violent sort just from looking at her, anymore than Merlin did. Unless she had…

Slowly suspicion dawned on Arthur. Or understanding. He slotted the facts together tentatively: the blood from what had evidently been a head wound smeared across her forehead, the fall down the stairs, the girl's apparent dazedness. She might be Healed – Merlin was the one who had Healed her – but Arthur didn't think she was entirely alright.

 _She deserved it,_ a hard-hearted part of Arthur insisted. _If what Merlin said is true and she was going to hurt other people, she deserved to be stopped by any means necessary._

Arthur nodded to himself, even as he turned back to Merlin. "But it's alright now. I mean, she hit her head, but surely she'll be alright? It didn't kill her or anything. Livingstone, or even someone from St. Mungo's, they'll be able to sort out… whatever is still wrong with her." He gestured once more towards the girl who followed the encompassing gesture of his hand with fixated eyes, like a dog focused upon a handful of treats. He shivered slightly at the expression she wore but steeled himself to reassure Merlin. "She's alright, Merlin."

Merlin only shook his head. Brutal self-deprecation twisted his expression. "I don't… she's not. I did something…. I thought – she died and I – I just wanted… I just wanted to fix her but –" Merlin cut off his confusion of words and immediately tucked his chin to his chest once more, eyes squeezing shut.

Arthur stared at him silently for a moment. A moment before Merlin's words hit him with a sudden, different kind of understanding and he felt his eyes widen. "She died? Did she -?" He glanced towards the girl who crinkled her eyes in a smile at his brief attention. "Merlin, did she die? Or – or nearly die? Did she -?"

Merlin only hunched his shoulders further under Arthur's blurted incredulity. His chin ducked once more and he set to mumbling fiercely beneath his breath. Arthur had to lean towards him further to make out the words. "…sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so, so sorry…"

Arthur shook his head slowly. This was… Merlin was so evidently remorseful, so wracked with guilt over his accidental action that had been _accidental_ that he seemed to have missed the fact that he'd saved the girl's life. Arthur stared at him with something very close to awe welling within him.

He knew Merlin was magically strong. He'd seen his spell work in class, and surely he would have to be to be able to so easily manage wandless magic. More then that, being a Pendragon and taught how to, he felt Merlin's magic. He felt the strength of it by simply being around him if he squinted just right. But this? Healing someone who, from the amount of blood, from Merlin's own words, had been very close to death? Livingstone was a remarkable Healer, Arthur knew, but he could hardly do that. Some injuries just weren't so easy to remedy. Arthur had known that Merlin was capable of Healing – he'd seen it with the unicorn, had come to understand his capabilities came from his mother's teachings – but this…

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, the wonder audible even to his own ears. "Do you have a Gift?"

Merlin bodily flinched, so fiercely and with such a jerk that he slipped from the gentle grasp Arthur maintained upon his shoulder. His chin snapped upwards, eyes blowing wide open and stared at Arthur in sudden terror. If possible, he grew even more ghostly pale, his lips turning an almost bloodless purple. A sudden coldness swept through the room, a physical chill that Arthur recognised as being his magic.

Evidently attempting to speak, perhaps to deny Arthur's words, Merlin's lips opened and closed. No sound spilled forth but a slight squeak, then nothing. Arthur stared at him with awe fading rapidly to concern as a violent tremor set through Merlin. His breath began to heave in faint gasps.

Arthur found himself sliding along the floor across the distance between them once more quite without his direct intention wrapped an arm around Merlin's shoulders. He was so tense, his body actually radiating cold even through his robe, that it was like holding a stone statue. A frozen stone statue. "Hey, don't freak out. Calm down, alright? Remember to breathe. Why are you freaking out?"

Merlin only shook his head, straining slightly against the hold Arthur maintained around his shoulders as though resisting the offered comfort and yet unable to completely draw himself away. His tremors shuddered through his fiercely enough for Arthur to feel himself shiver with them. He tried to meet Merlin's eyes, but the other boy was staring down at his knees with such profound, detached horror that he didn't think he saw Arthur at all. Arthur thought he almost preferred the haunted expression to such stark fear.

_Why is he so scared? What is he so worried about? That I found out about his Gift?_

Merlin evidently had one, that much was apparent from his response as much as his Healing. Arthur couldn't imagine why he was so afraid. "What's wrong? What are you so scared for? That I found out about your Gift?" The flinch Merlin gave again at his mention of the word confirmed his suspicions. Arthur shook his head, frowning. "Why would you be worried about that? It's called a Gift for a reason. It's _good_." He gave Merlin's shoulders a jostling squeeze.

Blinking rapidly, Merlin seemed to struggle to draw himself back from whatever terror had momentarily overcome him. His shaking persisted but he seemed to be making an effort to slow it. Wide eyes turned up to Arthur once more, seeming to consume most of his face. "Not always so good," he croaked, voice choked, and his words quavered as much as the rest of him did. He turned a brief glance towards the smiling girl at his other side before dropping his gaze to his knees once more.

Arthur turned towards the girl himself. Then towards Merlin. Then back again. He didn't understand, not really. He had the impression that there was something he was missing. From what he could discern, from his understanding of what had happened, the girl had just about attacked Merlin, he'd pushed her away and she'd fallen down the stairs and smacked her head, and then Merlin had performed a miraculous Healing upon her that had saved her life. That she was perhaps not quite as she had been before – certainly something was missing or shaken loose; Arthur could tell simply by looking at her – didn't erase the fact that Merlin had _saved_ her.

"Why would you say that?" Arthur murmured quietly. He couldn't help but squeeze his arm around Merlin's shoulders once more. He wasn't all that fond of physical displays of affection to those he wasn't close to, but in this instance Arthur felt right in his actions. Merlin obviously needed it; for some unknown, likely idiotic reason, he'd gotten it into his head that the guilt – the guilt? – of the accident outweighed the goodness of the Healing.

What kind of a person held such a tight grasp upon such guilt? Why couldn't Merlin see that he had saved the girl? And hopefully some other, more specialised Healer would fix her right back to normal again. Although, in considering the aggressive attack that she'd apparently nearly inflicted, Arthur wasn't sure if 'normal' was such a good thing.

"What you did was Good, Merlin," Arthur found himself saying. "You did Good. Your Gift is Good." How could Healing not be Good?

Merlin's shivers had grown to nearly non-existent, even if he didn't look any more reassured by Arthur's words. He shook his head slowly, eyes slipping briefly towards the Ravenclaw girl once more. They seemed attracted as though magnetised, unable to remain distracted for long. "Maybe not so good," he muttered. Arthur got the impression that he was speaking more to himself than anything.

That sat in silence for a time, Arthur mulling over the situation, biting back the urge to ask questions and seek further answers for the strange situation. He withheld the urge to ask about Merlin's Gift, even as something that felt very much like awe welled within him once more. How could it not? A Healing Gift? Every Gift was sacred simply for the existence of the Gift itself, but Healing? There couldn't possibly be a magical ability more embodying of Light than that.

Arthur watched Merlin sidelong, not for the first or even the third time since he'd met him revising his assessment of him. Merlin was a loud person, he talked too much and had a nearly permanent smile affixed to his face. But by the same token, he was so apparently private, speaking little of his personal life that Arthur had heard. In that moment he showed Arthur a side of him as he sat next to him, curled in upon himself and struggling to suppress his shaking and the very obvious inclination to burst into tears, that seemed to completely different to his behaviour in every other aspect of his life. And he'd hidden his Gift, for some reason that Arthur couldn't understand. He seemed to want to keep it hidden, even when Arthur knew that should anyone learn of it they would feel as awed by its simple existence as Arthur was himself.

Gifts were sacred. Those blessed people who were Gifted were incredibly fortunate; Arthur had long since despaired that he hadn't shown a tendency towards any outstanding Gifts himself. But Merlin had hidden his, as though he thought that having such a unique ability was somehow wrong.

Arthur couldn't understand that. He wasn't sure he wanted to understand the mindset behind such a way of thinking; was it a home-school thing? And yet, the tentative beginnings of a friendship erased any desire he may have had to ridicule Merlin for his nonsense, to disregard his distress and call him out for being the idiot that he so obviously was. It was the same reason that held him silently at Merlin's side, arm settled around his shoulders and simply sitting, offering companionship as Merlin struggled to put his shattered self back together.

In those minutes of silence, Arthur reached a decision. A frustrating decision but a decision nonetheless. _If Merlin doesn't want anyone to know about his Gift, then that should be his right. He's used it before, obviously, so he knows_ how _to use it. And he's not selfish enough to not use it if someone needs him to, that much is clear too. So I'll keep his secret for him. For as long as he wants it kept._

Arthur nodded decisively as he formed his resolution. Then, with a glance towards Merlin, who seemed to have calmed himself enough not to break into another trembling fit, he withdrew his arm and slowly clambered to his feet. He extended a hand. "Come on. We should go."

Merlin glanced up at him. The terror had faded slightly from his expression, and though wariness had taken its place it was coupled by a return of that haunted expression. He stared momentarily at Arthur's hand extended towards him, as though he couldn't comprehend what was being offered. "What?"

Arthur tilted his head towards the Ravenclaw girl, avoiding glancing in her direction for his disinclination to behold that unnerving, blood-smeared smile once more. "We'll take her to the Hospital Wing. We'll have Livingstone take a look at her, and maybe he can fix her up some more. Not that you might not have done just about anything that can be done but…" He shrugged. "Maybe he can just push those last few screws back into place."

Merlin stared at him warily for a moment longer then slowly, hesitantly, reached out and grasped Arthur's fingers. With a tug, Arthur pulled him to his feet, steadying him slightly with his free hand as he nearly staggered into him. They turned together towards the smiling girl.

"Come on," Arthur urged her, striving to keep his voice gentle in a thoroughly discomforting. He didn't know whether she understood him, nor how she would respond, but her smile reminded him eerily of a child in a twisted sort of way and he knew little kids didn't like being yelled at. "We'll take you to the hospital and see if Livingstone can take a look at you."

The girl stared up at him with her blank gaze, blinking slowly. Then she turned towards Merlin and blinked at him instead. Her smile widened slightly, as though the mere sight of him brought her joy. "I like you."

Arthur felt a shiver draw down his spine at the words. They were disjointed, irrelevant, reminiscent of the child that her smile suggested she was. At his side, Merlin shifted slightly, stiffly. Then he took an audible breath and stepped towards the girl. After a brief moment of hesitation, he bent over her slightly and offered her his hand much the same way that Arthur had done for him moments before. "Come on," he said quietly, with a gentle soothing resonance that Arthur doubted he'd ever be able to emulate. "Up you get."

With a beaming smile, the girl complied. It was awkward, as though she couldn't quite manage to untangle of her own limbs, but manage she finally did. She held onto Merlin's hand as though it were a precious gift and smiled down at him from her taller height. She must have been older than Arthur had initially suspected.

Glancing over his shoulder at Arthur, Merlin's expression, set in his sickly pale face, was everything that Arthur felt: concern, confusion, distress, and helplessness. They met one another's eyes for a moment before he turned back to the girl. With a slight tug of her hand, he drew her after him as he made his way from the bottom of the stairwell.

Arthur followed close behind. None of them spoke as they passed through the hallways, maintaining their composed stolidness, though Arthur wasn't the only one who flinched when the distant sound of voices echoed towards them. Arthur saw Merlin's shoulders hunch once more and could only hope that they managed to make it to the Hospital Wing without confronting anyone.

He found himself speaking softly with only an impression of the sentiment he intended to convey. "I won't tell anyone about your Gift, Merlin. I don't know why you seem to think it's bad, but I won't tell anyone. Not if you don't want me to."

Merlin didn't turn towards Arthur at his words. For a moment Arthur wasn't sure if he'd even heard him, but then, so quietly he almost couldn't make out the words, he muttered a near silent, "Thank you."

They didn't speak any further on their trip to the Hospital Wing, their party weighed down with the heaviness of their situation, of the words that they didn't speak. Arthur maintained his stare upon the two that walked barely a pace before him. Upon the Healer boy and the girl with her child's smile.


	19. Two Sides of the Same Coin

                                                                       

The familiar hallway was dark as usual, though even darker than was the norm for the fact that Merlin didn't light a _Lumos_ Charm to direct his way. For some reason it didn't feel right to disrupt the shadows, the stillness and indiscernible black limiting the assaulted upon Merlin's frayed nerves. They'd been teetering on the edge of fracturing for days now.

It wasn't quite cold, but Merlin felt cool regardless. That had lasted for days, too, since he'd drawn upon his Necromancy and been suffused with that bone-aching freeze. It wasn't the same cold of his Gift that trickled through him, however, but of the comforting shrouds of his calmer magic, the controllable magic, as it rose in response to his melancholic emotions in an effort to soothe them.

It didn't help. Not really. Nothing could quite soothe him because Merlin couldn't forget.

He and Arthur had led Nimueh into Gaius' hospital and handed her over to him with only the bare minimum of an explanation. Gaius hadn't required more. He'd drawn Nimueh into his care, face hardening in an enhanced version of his usual concerned focus. The two of them had disappeared into the curtained-off section of a bed with a word from Gaius for Merlin and Arthur to _get_ _out_. The doors of the Hospital Wing had closed behind then after they were urged from the room with a gentle propulsion of Gaius' magic.

Merlin hadn't left. He couldn't leave, not after what had happened. There was the responsibility, the guilt, the circling of thoughts that asked him _what have you done? Look what you've done! How could you have done something like this? Something so_ wrong.

Nearly crumpling beneath the weight of that guilt, Merlin was consumed by a rapidly growing sense of obligation towards the shell of the girl that he had brought back from the dead. Without a word to Arthur, without even a glance towards him, Merlin had slid down the wall beside the doors and curled in upon himself once more. He'd dropped his forehead to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to dispel the residue of his Necromancy's chill, and he closed his eyes.

It was easier not to think. To force himself not to think, to ignore the battering of accusations in his mind, reminding him of the precautions his mother had told him the first time they'd discovered the true nature of his gift, of each growth of his wariness as a knew tale was told of the armies of dead brought to life by Necromancers in the past, the puppets without a mind of their own, the tortured souls of ghosts bound to their conjurer and forced to obey their will.

Now Nimueh was added to the long list of reasons that Merlin must not use his Gift.

He didn't know what had gone wrong exactly. Something about the passing thought that had triggered the spark of… something within him. Something that he hadn't understood but had felt nonetheless, like a twinge of heartburn, or a cramp in the stomach. But that didn't really explain the _why_.

He'd used his Necromancy on Will not once but twice. Upon neither instance had Will returned to life as anything but how he was _supposed_ to be. Merlin didn't know what Zee had been like before she'd died, but she seemed like a normal enough rat to him, and the unicorn hadn't appeared all that different than a the sort of intelligent that unicorns were supposed to be. Magically intelligent, but lacking in the sense of wrongness that clung to Nimueh, that radiated from her every time Merlin looked at her. The only other was Mr Poppywit from back in Ealdor and, well… Poppywit had been more than a little senile even before Merlin had acted without deliberate intent and revived the man. He'd been raving about Merlin "bringing him back from the dead" from the moment he had awoken, and likely would have been disregarded if not for his only slightly less senile wife hadn't backed his word.

It was one of the main reasons that Merlin had signed up to go to Hogwarts in the first place. Some few people had begun to look at him strangely, not quite believing Poppywit's words but not entirely disregarding them either. After all, Merlin had always been weird. What if he had managed some strange kind of revival?

And now that 'weirdness' had manifested itself as dangerous. Against his will, Merlin's Gift had revived Nimueh into a state that she had not been before, something that had left her effectively broken. Arthur had said that Gaius, or perhaps even the Healers at St. Mungo's, might be able to help her. To readjust some of the loose screws as he'd put it. Merlin knew that wouldn't be the case. He'd Healed her, fully Healed her, and knew enough diagnostic spells from his mother to have been able to test if there was anything further wrong with Nimueh that could possibly be fixed.

There hadn't been. Nimueh was fixed, yet she was still broken.

Merlin had only glanced up from the shade of his arms when Gaius had opened the door. It was only then that he realised that Arthur had been standing beside against the him not quite two feet away the entire time. Silently, without even fidgeting in place. He hadn't spoken a word to interrupt Merlin's thoughts, hadn't revoiced his inaccurate assumption as to the nature of his Gift. He'd simply offered companionship without even requiring Merlin's recognition of that offering. Though Merlin didn't quite have the capacity to consider what that meant at the time, he known it had meant something. Something significant.

What that something was had been immediately pushed into second place of contemplation as Merlin started to his feet. He'd turned towards Gaius, feebly hopeful even in spite of what he knew with absolute certainty. The expression worn on Gaius' face had said it all, that he knew Nimueh's state had something to do with Merlin's Gift and that there was nothing he could do about it.

The revival, the reinforcement, the redoubling of his guilt was what drove Merlin down to Kilgharrah's dungeon wing the night before the end of term. He had resisted for an entire year, resisted the unspoken words the ex-professor had only once voiced, because he didn't want to learn about his Necromancy. He didn't want to practice it, to further understand it. He didn't want to have anything to do with it.

But time and time again situations arose where it had been called forth. And finally it had imploded destructively. If Merlin was going to have the Dark Gift at all, he couldn't leave it untouched. Not when a stray thought could end in such disaster.

Merlin hadn't quite reached the door to Kilgharrah's room when it opened. For the first time, it wasn't Merlin who stepped into Kilgharrah's presence but the other way around. The tall man seemed even taller as he took a single stride through the doorway. He somehow made the corridor seem small, even smaller for the shadows that surrounded him, dancing in exaggerations beneath the circle of little red lights that hung suspended around his head. His orange eyes were the colour of molten fire, and stared unblinkingly at Merlin.

Merlin stopped several paces from the professor. With a struggle, he steeled himself, clenching his fists in an effort to harden himself, and met Kilgharrah's unblinking gaze. He knew from the second that they made contact that Kilgharrah knew.

Swallowing tightly, Merlin croaked before he spoke. "I need your help."

Kilgharrah stared at him for a moment before, his head slowly tilting to cock to one side. "It has been decided what will happen to her?"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't have to ask whom Kilgharrah was referring to. Neither did he have to ask how the man knew what had happened at all, even if he didn't know what decision had been made. Or perhaps he did and he simply wanted Merlin to tell him anyway. "I asked Gaius if – if someone could take care of her. Because her parents – they wouldn't." He squeezed his eyes together more tightly as memory of Nimueh's words, of her family and the words of her rejection swimming to the forefront of his mind. She had endured so much, and Merlin had just pushed more upon her. "Gaius agreed and… and when I suggested it –" He paused. Struggling to open his eyes, Merlin peered up at Kilgharrah once more. "Mum's taking her in. To look after her. Gaius told the Healers at St. Mungo's that it's for rehabilitation, only until she gets better but…"

He shook his head. He knew Nimueh wouldn't get better, just as he knew that there was nothing more within her to Heal. She'd barely been awake for a moment in the days since Merlin had revived her, kept in an induced sleep as she was, but in that time Gaius had allowed him to see her. She was a child in a young woman's body, a child that lacked the capacity to develop further. She couldn't care for herself, couldn't understand anything besides the pure informational input of what was directly before her. She would need someone to look after her.

Blessedly, Hunith had offered even before Merlin had thought to ask. He'd written her the day after the incident, and she'd replied with all promptness and a wave of reassurances, worries, forgiveness for his stupidity with recognition that it was an 'accident'. Not that her forgiveness really soothed Merlin all that much, but it helped a little. Even more so when he visited Gaius later that day and he told Merlin of the Floo call she'd made to him, offering herself as the one who could take Nimueh in. Apparently it hadn't been all that hard for Gaius to pull some strings and allow exactly that.

Kilgharrah was nodding slowly. "I see. Perhaps it will be a good thing, to have a constant reminder of one of the many things your Gift is capable of."

Merlin couldn't quite suppress his flinch. "Did you know? Did you know I could do something like that?"

Kilgharrah inclined his head once more in something that wasn't quite a nod. "I suspected. I suspect much of what one with a Gift such as yours can do. Most knowledge of such a Gift is theoretical, given that an innately Gifted Necromancer has not been born in nearly a thousand years, but my guesses have always had an uncanny accuracy."

Gritting his teeth, Merlin dropped his eyes to the floor. He wanted to blame Kilgharrah. He wanted to accuse him of not telling him the damage he could possibly inflict, for not warning Merlin of the strength of one passing thought when the demon of his Necromancy clawed its way forth and shed its freezing chill upon the world of the living.

But he couldn't. He couldn't blame Kilgharrah for not telling him because Merlin hadn't let himself be told. Kilgharrah had offered, he'd suggested and very nearly demanded that Merlin allow himself to be taught, and Merlin had resisted him. He'd resisted and now…

Taking a slow, deep breath, Merlin raised his gaze to meet Kilgharrah's once more. He could see in the man's face, in the calm composure of his expression barely visible through the layers of scarring and pockmarks, that he knew what Merlin wished to ask him even before he'd spoken. He knew the urgency of Merlin's need, and it was likely that which had drawn him from his room even just one step for the first time that Merlin had ever witnessed.

Yet even so, the words were harder to utter that Merlin had thought possible. He was undermining his mother's request, his own desire, and finally truly accepting himself as the Necromancer that he was by speaking that one simple request. But he had to, because he couldn't have something happen like had happened with Nimueh.

"Can you teach me? Can you teach me to control my Necromancy?"

Kilgharrah stared with hard, unblinking stillness. He stared, and he considered Merlin as he seemed to savour the words he'd spoken. Then he inclined his head once more. "Yes. I will teach you. And I will teach you more than just control. I will teach you all that I am capable of teaching you about your Gift, young warlock."

Without another word, he turned back to his room and slipped into the candlelit shadows of beyond. Merlin hesitated for only a moment, both hating and needing to follow him, before he accepted defeat. He clicked the door shut behind him as he followed Kilgharrah inside.

* * *

 

The Hogwarts Express blew gushes of thick smog into the air as it heaved and sighed, waiting for its passengers to board. The platform was thick with students dragging trunks, with caged owls screeching at a pitch just slightly higher than that of the younger years shrieking with laughter and enthusiasm. The summer holidays had finally begun, and freedom was but a train trip away.

Arthur didn't pull a trunk of his own as he accompanied his friends through the crowd. Neither did Elyan for that matter, given that both of their parents were likely to remain at Hogwarts for at least another few days to get things sorted. Such was routine, had become the norm after three years. Arthur could only be thankful for the fact that at least one of his friends was prevented from seeking their escape alongside him, if only for a little while. Leon's and Percival's good humour would have been just that bit more grating had Elyan added his own joviality to the mix. Not that Arthur resented them for it, but it would have been nice to escape the school grounds at the same time as everyone else for once.

"I'm holding you all to your promises," Leon was saying. "If any of you think you can shirk your responsibilities, then –"

"Shirk our responsibilities?" Elyan grinned. "I don't know, Leon, you're asking quite a bit to have us join your football team. Do you know how much effort it takes to force yourself to enjoy a game with mates?"

"You, shut up," Leon replied without bite, jabbing a finger at Elyan. Elyan only laughed. "But seriously, I mean it. You're all coming to mine third week, right? Well, you can just swing by before or after that if you want to play."

"You're really insistent that we're going to enjoy this game, aren't you?" Percival said, shaking his head. "What if I don't take to it?"

"Then we put you in goals and you can stand there reading a book or something. You'd probably be the biggest bloke on the team, Perce; you'd probably fill up most of the goals just be standing in front of them."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Yeah, and reading?" Elyan shook his head in mock disapproval. "Leon, come on, now. You know Percy doesn't read anything with more word in it than a comic book unless he absolutely has to."

"Now you sound like you're calling me stupid," Percival grumbled. "I do read, you know."

"Yeah, comics."

"That's reading!"

"It's more like looking at pictures than reading," Leon mused aloud.

"Obviously you've never read a comic book before, then. Here, I'll give you the first volume of _The Priest of Avalon_ to read on the trip home. You'll like it, I bet."

"Anything with a priest in it can't be all that interesting," Leon replied dubiously.

Arthur shook his head as he listened to his friend's ensuing banter. He commiserated with Percival that he was being teased – once again – for his inclination for reading comic books, but he could hardly bother to partake in defence of his friend. The false argument of sorts was inherently the same that had taken place multiple times over the years.

Instead, he scanned the crowds of squishing and stumbling students, at the flurry of accidental elbows and trunks that nearly bowled over those surrounding their owners when they weren't simply striking them in the knees. There seemed to be far more than two hundred and fifty or so people on the length of the platform, and that number was only slowly lessening as several succeeded in dragging themselves and their trunks onto the train and disappearing in search of a compartment.

Familiar faces, all of them, and Arthur wouldn't be seeing more than a handful of them for months. It was one face in particular that he searched for, however, the focus of that search being the primary reason he only listened to his friends with half an ear.

He spotted him at the far end of the platform, talking to Gwen hugged him with more enthusiasm and excess than was entirely warranted, even for the summer break. As he had been since the incident with that seventh year girl days before, Merlin looked pale, tired, and faintly strained. The slight hunch to his shoulders hadn't alleviated for a moment, as though he were withdrawing from a non-existent cold. He appeared to be listening to Gwen attentively enough as she released him to chatter at him about something or other, but even in the moments that Arthur watched him from afar he could tell that he was far more close-lipped than Arthur had come to expect of him.

Arthur had been keeping an eye on Merlin far more closely over the past days than was probably appropriate. From a distance, of course, because Merlin appeared to wish nothing more than but to be ignored by everyone and was only just tolerating the accompaniment of Gwen, of Bast and Dulac and Sefa. Arthur watched for a number of reasons.

One was that Merlin did indeed look fairly terrible. He seemed unwell on a concerning level, but the sort of unwell that was induced more from stress and exhaustion than any sort of illness. But probably more persistently than that, Arthur watched him because he couldn't look away. Because the knowledge that he'd come to understand, knowledge that had been so effectively concealed, had been revealed and Arthur couldn't help but wonder what other secrets Merlin could possibly be hiding. Perhaps even secrets as wondrous as a Gift of Healing.

He couldn't help himself. Arthur had never been one to allow others to keep their secrets from him. He could keep his own well enough, but perhaps it was the same inclination that drove Morgana's closet gossip mongering, but Arthur simply had to know. More than that, he wanted to know. Far from his initial dislike, Arthur found that the more he knew about Merlin – objectionable or otherwise – the more interested he was to know more about him.

They may have butted heads at first, true, but now… Arthur felt their relationship approaching something almost directly opposite that first impression. Driven by his curiosity, yes, but by something else too. It was the same inclination that had struck Arthur when he had first met Elyan and Gwen, despite their father's Muggleborn status. It was the feeling that _this person, I like them, so they will become a part of mine._

Arthur was striding away from his friends with a barely worded "Just a minute" before he'd actively made the decision to do so. It was far easier to navigate the throngs of students without a trunk of his own or that of his friends dragging along beside him, and several jumps over said trunks and a dance of skirting steps later and he made his way across the platform. Just as he approached, almost as though she was making way for his arrival, Gwen caught sight of someone – probably a confused first year – and with a call to her side disappeared into the crowd herself. Merlin watched her go with barely a touch of a fond smile on his lips. It was far too diminutive for Arthur's liking; it wasn't a Merlin smile, as he had come to recognise them. He hadn't thought that he would actually miss the stupidly goofy brightness but he actually did. Just a little.

Arthur approached him with his usual confidence and nonchalance, despite that he knew his opinion of the other boy had vastly changed once again from how he 'usually' considered him. Merlin drew his attention towards him only as he stopped directly before him.

Neither spoke for a moment, Merlin affixing Arthur with a faintly questioning gaze as Arthur stared mutedly back at him. After a moment, he shook himself from his staring. "Shouldn't you be getting on the train?"

Merlin blinked for a moment, then cast a very pointed glance around himself at the thickness of the crowds. "If I was going to, I think I'd have to wait for some of the masses to make way."

Arthur could have frowned, could have objected to the slightly condescending tone of Merlin's voice. He didn't, because if anything it actually made him feel a little better, a little comforted. A condescending Merlin was a Merlin that he was familiar with, and served to reassure Arthur that, even now that he knew more, that he understood a deeper side of him, the person that he did know just a little about wasn't entirely false. A bit of a façade, maybe, but not false enough to have dissipated entirely.

"There's no need to be sarcastic," Arthur replied, hearing his tone falling back into the usual style that he so often used around Merlin. The normal tone, comfortable, casual, and similarly faintly patronising – Arthur could recognise that much in himself. "I was just suggesting it so that you don't make the mistake that most of the first years do with leaving it until the last minute and having to share a compartment with an eccentric hippi, a nerd who won't keep his mouth shut, and a troll who takes up three seats himself and another two because it seems too dangerous to sit on either side of him."

Merlin blinked at him for a moment in surprise before a faint smile touched his lips. It wasn't his normal smile, but it was better than the haunted expression he'd worn too much over the past days. "Are you speaking from experience with that? It seemed very specific."

"Not my experience. Leon and Percival made that mistake at the end of first year," Arthur clarified.

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you for the head up but I'm actually portkeying. Back to Ealdor, you know. It's just as easy as catching the train to London and jumping back from there and takes less time."

"Oh, right." Arthur nodded. He'd forgotten – stupidly forgotten – that Merlin lived in Ireland. Of course it would be easier to portkey or Floo straight from the school. "Well, that makes sense."

"It does," Merlin agreed, with a very distinctive _"of course, you idiot"_ colouring his short words. It sparked a flicker of annoyance in Arthur, but even that familiar annoyance wasn't entirely unwelcome. It was the same as usual, the _usual_ touch of frustration that Arthur always felt when talking to Merlin. He was almost glad to feel it.

It was likely that feeling, or an acknowledgement of that feeling, that urged Arthur to say what he did. "You know, Merlin, you can't keep blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault. If anything, you should be proud of yourself for saving that girl at all."

Instantly, Merlin's expression became guarded. Wide, unblinking eyes stared at Arthur for a moment. "You say that, Arthur. You say that, but –"

"That's right, I do say that," Arthur overrode him. "I say what I mean and how I see it. And what I saw was you saving someone even though they were going to do something that would probably hurt you."

Merlin's wariness didn't ease at his words. Arthur gave a frustrated sigh. "Look, even if you don't forgive yourself for whatever guilt you think you have, that doesn't mean you should let it affect you. And if nothing else, think about the people around you. Think about _me_."

The guarded expression on Merlin's face finally slipped to be replaced by a frown of confusion and rising indignation. "What? What do you -?"

"I don't like seeing a friend so upset, Merlin. If for no other reason, brighten up a little bit. It's depressing to look at you as you are."

Arthur had deliberately kept his tone light and faintly scolding, petulant and nothing if not thick with the tone of a spoilt brat that Morgana so often accused him of being. He knew himself well enough to know that it was the only way he could have conveyed the sentiment he felt. Even with such an approach, Arthur felt awkwardness rising within him and threatening to flair a flush in his cheeks.

 _I feel like a giggling teenager who's just confessed a crush rather than admitting that I see him as my friend._ He shook his head at his own foolishness, in spite of the warmth climbing into his cheeks.

It helped that Merlin for once didn't appear to have a sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue. As Arthur had privately hoped, he appeared stunned by the admission, by Arthur's claiming of their friendship. For though Arthur knew he'd been gradually becoming aware of his amicability with Merlin, it was the first time that either of them had openly acknowledged that they'd moved past their _frustrated-you-are-so-annoying-exasperated_ exchanges. It was that surprise, as well as Merlin's silence itself, that enable Arthur to continue at all.

He cleared his throat, striving to reassume his casual tone. "In the last week of July, my friends are coming around to my place to stay for a couple of days. Just Leon and Percival and Elyan, and Gwen's coming as well. Morgana will most likely be there too," he added, a wordless _unfortunately_ tacked onto the end. "If you want to join us, I'm sure both Gwen and Morgana would be more than happy for you to come along. And… well, you're not appalling company, Merlin."

Shrugging with forced carelessness, Arthur turned from Merlin, whose expression had grown even more surprised with every one of Arthur's words. Arthur felt a touch of satisfaction rise within him at that, at the temporary vanquishing of Merlin's deep thoughtfulness and the grimness that had hung over him like a thick, heavy cloud, alleviated for a moment with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "Write me if you want to come," he said, and without another word Arthur turned and strode back through the crowd of students away from him.

As he made his way back to his friends, Arthur couldn't help but spare one more glance over his shoulder towards Merlin. He felt his satisfaction settle as a smile upon his face to see a mirroring smile spreading slowly across Merlin's as he watched his retreat. It was only a faint rekindling of his usual good-humour, but a rekindling nonetheless. Even if it was only temporary, Arthur felt delight pleasantly warming his chest. He'd done that. For a friend, he'd helped him just a little.

Arthur hadn't been looking to make a friend. Not in Slytherin, nor in the form of a strange home-schooled boy who seemed to be more mouth than brains. Not even from a Gifted Healer with an unnaturally powerful magical capacity. But as he recognised the warmth within him for what it was, Arthur couldn't deny that a friend was surely what he had made. Maybe just the beginnings of one, and of a different kind to those he already had, but a friend nonetheless.

With a satisfied nod, Arthur allowed himself to ponder over the thoughts of what the summer was to bring. A summer in the company of his friends and maybe, just maybe, one new friend in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for sticking with the story the whole way through. It was a bit of an epic, but I hope you liked it regardless. If you did, please leave a comment to let me know what you think. I'm terribly greedy when it comes to comments, so quite literally any chance at conversation I'll take at the barest opportunity!  
> I'm not sure if this story will evolve into a series. Again, as I said before, I would LIKE to, but it's a massive commitment and juggling doing so with everything else and a stubbornly silent muse is a little tricky. Maybe. Hopefully :)


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